


Better Enemies than Lovers

by Balkanika_52



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, M/M, Magic, Romantic Soulmates, Slow Burn, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:47:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 32,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24902566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balkanika_52/pseuds/Balkanika_52
Summary: Boudicca is the Weaver Queen, able to make magic from music. Aisling is the Darkstar princess, wielding booksmarts alongside her shadowy magic. Centuries of war between their kinds has divided an island in two with no end in sight. Will a chance meeting be the beginning of peace, or will they, like so many of those who came before them, be better off as enemies than lovers?
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 5





	1. Boudicca

The first morning I awoke as the Weaver Queen, I vomited. Not because I was truly ill, but because I was afraid of what the title would do to me, and because of how I got it. The only reasons the crown was on my head were because my parents had been murdered by a Darkstar assassin and that I was older than my brother, if only by a mere ten minutes. I was stuck with the crown until I died, if I was that lucky. If Weavers are allowed to come to their full power by the age of twenty-one, we become virtually immortal. Add in the war that has never even reached a ceasefire, and it looks like a shit deck of cards.

That was two years ago.

Now, I am Queen Boudicca Ó Ceithearnaigh of the Weaver dynasty, destined to either end this war or keep it going for the next generation. Thankfully, I have people to help me with the tough decisions. “More rats in the ships?”

“At least six more reports of the grain shipments being eaten, being covered in shit, or worse. What do we do?” Across the strategy table, my twin brother Gwynfor looks up at me. “We could always withhold payment until they send us grain that _isn’t_ covered in rat shit.” Next to him, my master of the treasury and trade, Niamh, shakes her head. “We already have one war on our hands. We have no need for another. Besides, the queen has enough difficult decisions to make.” She waves a hand at the list of names that was the first thing on my mind this morning, and, mind you, _every_ morning since I became queen. _Which Darkstar will become my prey?_

_Who is the Darkstar whose blood I will spill?_

In a bit of a twisted rite of passage, it became common over the last century for Weavers and Darkstars to kill a member of the other race upon turning eighteen. As a member of the royal family, I should have already had my turn, but because of my parents’ murder and my subsequent ascension to the throne, it has yet to happen. I made my decision long ago, though, after discussing it thoroughly with my brother, just after he made his kill.

To hurt the Darkstar king where he is most vulnerable, just as he did to me and Gwynfor, and kill one of his four children, the one who, according to all our sources, is his favourite, despite being the youngest of them--and the only daughter. “Princess Aisling Gylden.” I test her name out, letting it roll off of my tongue. “Prepare to die.”


	2. Aisling

_ Weavers and Darkstars were not always at war. There is even speculation that the two were originally- _

“Father has been looking for you for the last hour and a half. Of course you’d be filling your head instead of using your magic.” I turn a page of the book that’s held my attention for the past hour, not looking up at my eldest brother as I reply.

“Executions have never been my area of expertise, Cystennin. You and I both know that. Besides, I would think that having the Decimator there would more than make up for my absence.” I don’t have to look at his face to know he’s winced upon hearing the nickname that belongs to our brother Nioclás.

He’s never liked it--and he calls  _ me  _ the soft one, but none of us are truly soft.

Having a dead mother and a father with two faces does not a soft person make. Then he says something to me that makes me angry, even though I know it’s nothing but the truth. “You know that, despite you being the youngest, you’re Father’s favourite.”

“I never _asked_ to be, Cystennin!” I hiss, snapping my book shut and getting up to face him. Apart from being the youngest of four children and the only girl, I also happen to be the shortest, so I have to crane my neck a bit to look him in the eye. “For the love of the gods, I have _never_ understood why our father has preferred me over you, over Nioclás, over Treasach. I am nothing like him, and I would not in a million years _want_ to be like him. I would give _anything_ to be ignored by him.” I would yell, but we’re in the library. Some things have to be respected.

“If that were true, Aisling, you would have done your duty three years ago. You keep refusing to kill a Weaver, but the more you refuse, the more likely it is that Father will turn on you and have Nioclás execute  _ you _ . That’s actually why I came to find you. Father has decided upon your target. You’re to kill Boudicca.”

“He wants me to kill the  _ Weaver Queen _ ? Now I truly know he’s mad. How am I even supposed to get close to her?” In response, he pushes a rough bundle into my arms. I open it to find a cache of food, a water sling, and the dagger gifted to me on my eighteenth birthday--a dagger, I realise, that was given to me for this exact purpose. “I’m not supposed to help you. But you’re my only sister. I can’t let you go it alone. You have to leave now, though. From what our spies have heard, you and the Weaver Queen are in the same boat.”

“What do you mean?” Even though I’m probably going to wind up dead, he laughs and pulls me into a close embrace. “I mean, little sister, that she is coming to kill  _ you _ . Come back alive, or I’ll join the Weavers myself.”

“If that ever happened, the war would be over in a matter of minutes.” I bite my lip, suddenly afraid. What if I  _ do  _ kill her? “You have to go.” I snap back to reality at Cystennin’s words. “Now? I don’t even get to say goodbye?”

“I’m sorry, Aisling. The faster you leave, the more of a chance you have to survive. Good luck.” Before I can utter a single word of protest, my brother grips me on the shoulder and mutters a teleportation spell; in an instant, I’m in the middle of the Wicked Forest, the vast territory that divides the island between Weavers in the south and Darkstars in the north. It’s called the  _ Wicked  _ Forest for a reason; it’s where the first Darkstar blood was spilled in the war. Three centuries later, blood is still being spilled. Might as well start walking.

_ Two hours later... _

I almost let out a scream of frustration as I accidentally kick yet another rock. I'm starting to get angry at just about everything-- _ how dare my father send me to kill the Weaver Queen, how dare my brother send me to the middle of the damned forest where I can’t see anything, how dare the world be this fucked up-- _ when my foot catches something on the ground and I’m yanked into the air by my ankle. I scream for real, out of fear. I’ve been caught in a snare. Whether it’s a hunter’s snare or my target’s, I don’t know, but I can’t reach my knife, and panic soon sets in. It grows when footsteps sound, dangerously close to me. I try to summon a few shards of magic to cut me free, but it doesn’t work.

_ What’s happened to my magic? _

“ _ Careful _ , princess.” A coldly beautiful voice sneers. “That rope around your ankle is laced with iron. Keep trying to use your magic and you just might do my job for me.” The footsteps grow closer and closer until a figure comes into view. I’m getting a bit dizzy from being upside down for so long, but I manage to stay conscious enough to see my captor by the torch she carries. Grey travelling clothes give me an inkling of who she is, but what confirms it is her glittering silver hair.

_ “Boudicca.” _


	3. Boudicca

I’m disappointed at the prey in front of me. She’s easily shorter than me, thin to the point of being waifish. The only semblance of a potential fight is in her dark brown eyes, which are staring straight at me. “I would have expected the Darkstar king’s favourite child to be more aware of her surroundings.”

“It’s hard to be when it’s so damned _dark_.” She hisses back, still trying to get free of my snare. “If you want me dead, just kill me now.” A single flick of my finger is all it takes for the rope to snap, sending her tumbling to the ground. I let her get to her feet, drawing my swords as she stands, before I respond. “Now, where would the fun be in that?”

“ _Fun?!_ We were sent to _kill_ each other.” The iron will sap her magic for a few more minutes; I better get on with it. “Wrong, little Darkstar. I _chose_ to come to kill you. Just like my brother killed one of your kind. So pick up your knife,” I continue, gripping my twin swords, “and fight me.”

“ _Make me_ .” I decide to twist the metaphorical knife a bit deeper at her refusal. _“Make your mother proud.”_ When I mention her dead mother, she screams in fury and rushes me, knocking me to the ground. “Don’t you _ever_ mention my mother, you bitch!” Her fist swings down towards my face, but I easily dodge it and shove my knee up into her stomach, hitting an unprotected, weaker area and, more importantly, making her roll off of me. “Touchy, touchy.” I murmur under my breath, and deliver a kick to her side. She doesn’t react. I nudge her again with the tip of my boot. Still nothing. I finally crouch down to check her breathing--a bad idea, since she was faking being unconscious. She pounces like a cat, showing surprising strength for someone as thin as she is, pins me against a tree, and brings her knife to my neck, but doesn’t use it. “Kill me and be done with it, little Darkstar.” I snarl, even though there’s a blade pressed to my throat. “What are you waiting for?” In a surprising turn of events, she lifts the knife away from my skin and lets me go. “I can’t do this. I can’t kill you, Boudicca.”

“Then I have to kill _you_. It’s tradition.” She makes a noise of disgust that’s so low I wouldn’t have caught it if she weren’t this close to me. “Screw tradition. It’s stupid. We should be working together, not slaughtering each other.”

“Your kind started this whole war! Don’t blame me.” I pick one of my swords back up and point it at her. “Surrender or fight. Either way, one of us is going to die tonight.” Surprisingly, she doesn’t attack; instead, she tosses her blade to the side and kneels at my feet. “Then kill me. But do me a favour and look me in the eyes when you do it, so I can see who’s killing me.” I look into her eyes as I raise my blade; as I move it toward her heart, something snaps into place between us. Something raw and primal that goes beyond any hatred our kinds hold for each other.

“ _No._ ” I gasp, dropping my blade, stumbling back away from her. “How is this possible?” She gets up quickly, confusion spreading across her face. “What are you talking about?” I barely hear her question before I’m shaking my head and trying to rebuke this. “There is no way that this is happening. No _fucking_ way.”

“What isn’t happening?” I know she had to have felt it, too, but if I say it out loud, then it just makes it even more real. “There is no fucking way that you are my _mate_!”

“Anything is possible, Boudicca.” Even though we were trying to kill each other just moments before, she laughs. “You don’t even know my name, do you?” I do, but I remain silent; she takes it as a sign that I don’t. “Aisling. My name is Aisling. I already know who you are, Weaver Queen.” Her use of my title reminds me of what I came here to do.

What I _can’t_ do now, because to kill her would be to kill myself.

“What are we going to do?” I murmur, burying my face in my hands. “They’ll kill you for not killing me.”

“And you’ll be stripped of your crown if you don’t kill me.” I get an idea just then. “No. They won’t, because they can’t. Weaver society values the mating bond above all. They won’t kill me for something that can’t be helped.” Her hand is suddenly on my arm; something about the action makes me feel safe. “Is that all I will be to you?” I come back to my senses and brush her off. “If I have anything to say about it, yes. Come on.” I turn and begin to walk back through the woods; it takes her a moment, but she quickly follows me. “Where are we going?”

“South. Back home. This will be tricky to explain to my council. And my brother.” I murmur the last part under my breath, but she manages to hear me. “Older or younger?”

“Younger by twenty-six minutes. Why do you care?” She answers me with a soft laugh. “Despite you wishing it were otherwise, you _are_ my mate. I should make an effort to learn more about you. More than what I already know, I mean.”

“And what _do_ you know about me, _Aisling_?” I ask, trying to drag her name out on purpose, but it doesn't quite work, since her name's only two syllables long. “The youngest Weaver Queen in history. The first in a century to be born with pure silver hair. I know that the throne came to you before it should have.” The last part irks me. “Whose fault is that?”

“Not mine, exactly. My father’s, I know.” Her voice softens. “I am sorry.” I roll my eyes. “Don’t apologise for something you had no part in. You only know the basics. For now, that’s all you need to know.”

“Then what do you know about me?” I only have to skim through my mind to recall what I know. “The youngest Darkstar royal child. The king’s favourite. Meeker than her brothers, and more likely to spend her days in a library than swordfighting. So, princess, how did I do?”

“You...are right. On every count. I ‘ve never liked blades. My mother taught me to think before I act.” She seems sadder when she talks about her mother, and I almost feel bad about using her to get her to fight. 

Almost.

“Do you miss your parents?”

“I look at the future, not the past.” I stop suddenly and feel metal under my feet. “We’re here.”

“Where?” I bend down to dust off the dead leaves that cover the tunnel cover. “There’s a tunnel underneath the forest. It leads to a portal that goes directly to the castle.” I tug on the cover, which recognises my magic and opens almost instantly. “That’s convenient.” I don’t reply; instead, I climb down the ladder and look towards the portal. The princess is behind me a moment later. “So we just walk through it and we’ll be where, exactly?”

“If you must know, we’ll be in the castle garden. It’s right outside my wing. I’ll sneak you in and we can discuss this...this _situation_ in the morning.” The blue light of the portal is almost blinding, but I’ve never had an issue with it. It’s beautiful in that cold sort of way that I love. “Come on, princess. It won’t hurt you.” When she still doesn’t budge, I grab her arm and haul her through. Once we’re on the other side, I quickly use a shrouding spell to hide her from view, leading her into my quarters as fast as I can. “Thank you.” She murmurs as I make sure the wards around the area are secure. “For what?”

“Trusting me.” I laugh sharply. “Oh, I don’t. Trust you, that is. You are only here because I cannot kill you without killing part of myself.” I finish checking the wards and point down the corridor. “Guest chamber is the second door to the right. Try anything and I will have you gutted like a fish.”

“Good night, Boudicca.” She barely whispers as she edges out of the room, closing the door behind her, and I throw a shoe at the door when she’s gone. My mate is not only a Darkstar, she is a Darkstar _princess._ The worst of the worst.

_I hate my life._


	4. Aisling

The morning after I discover the Weaver Queen is my mate, I wake up to two things: a large mug of coffee and said Weaver Queen standing beside the bed, tapping her foot impatiently. “Do you always sleep this late?”

“What time is it?” I groan, sitting up, trying to cover my half-naked body with the blankets. “Past ten. There’s clothes in the wardrobe. Get dressed--we have a meeting to get to.” Without another word, she sweeps out of the room, red cloak trailing behind her. I hastily put on the dark gray garments I find in the wardrobe and step outside. She barely looks up at me when I join her. “Good. You can take orders. Follow me.” I do as she says, trailing behind her until we get to what I can only assume is her war room. One person is in the room already, a young man with navy blue hair, spinning a knife on his finger. This must be her brother. “Boudicca, I do hope that bringing your flings is not going to be a new--oh, no.” He cuts himself off, realising something, and bursts into laughter. “What’s so funny?”

“Your mate is the Darkstar princess? That's  _ hilarious. _ ” He continues laughing until his sister slaps him upside the head. “Gwynfor, don’t. I don’t need any more of your idiotic behaviour.” For a moment, I’m speechless. How did he know that I’m Boudicca’s mate? He must have seen my confusion on my face, because he explains, “She told me that she met her mate. I didn’t expect  _ you,  _ however.”

“I doubt any of us did. The question is, what do we do about it?” She acts like I’m a pest that needs to be killed before it can do any damage. “I’m right here, you know.” I snap. “Stop talking about me as if I’m not in the room.” Surprisingly, her lips curl into a smirk. “Well, well. Looks like you have fangs after all, little Darkstar.”

“I have a name.” I fire back. “And why, tell me, would I use it? Are we friends? No. Close? Hardly. So unless that  _ somehow  _ is reversed,” she snarls, her anger brimming to the point of boiling over, “you get no name from me. And as far as the world is concerned, you died.”

“Oh, and I get no say in this?” I laugh bitterly. “Of course. You know, you may act like you have your people’s best interests at heart, but you’re nothing more than a stuck-up bitch who only cares about herself.”

“And you’re a weak little girl who can’t go a day without weeping over her dead mother. No wonder she killed herself.” My vision goes red, and before I know what I’ve done a wave of my magic, black as obsidian, has hit her, sending her flying back into the wall. I repeat what I said the previous night. “Don’t mention my mother.” I leave the room as fast as I can. I don’t know where the hell I’m going, but I have to get away from here--away from  _ her.  _ I end up back in the quarters I was in before; not even a moment after I slam the door behind me, it opens again and the Weaver prince steps in. “What do you want?”

“To talk. Among other things. I wanted to apologise for my sister’s behaviour. I can only assume that you didn’t expect such a...cold reception from your mate.” I look up at him. “Why does she hate me so much? I understand hating me because of who my father is, but what did  _ I  _ do to  _ her _ ?” He sighs and takes a seat across from me. “You have to understand that Boudicca hates you because you are everything she is  _ meant  _ to hate. A Darkstar. The Darkstar princess at that. She just needs time to get used to you.”

“Why are you being so nice to me? I thought you’d be taking her side.” He laughs. “Oh, you have quite a bit to learn. I only take Boudicca’s side when I need to. I will disagree with her unless I think she’d somehow retaliate. She can be...volatile. Once, she threw a plate at a potential consort’s head, so consider yourself lucky that harsh words are all you’re getting from her. As for why I’m being nice to you, well. Better to have a friend than an enemy. I hope you would agree.”

“If she’s so volatile, then why hasn’t she been overthrown?” He laughs again, but this time it’s bitter. “Why would they? Boudicca is a good actress and a better queen. Our people love her, and she keeps them fed and happy, so there really is no point to a revolution.”

“How do I make her get used to me? I doubt she’d want to spend time with me voluntarily--”

“I could always lock the two of you in a room and not let you out until you promise to get along. Or hide all the coffee in the country until she uses your name. Got any other ideas?” I consider the possibilities. “What about stealing her swords until she’s civil?”

“Then she’d kill  _ me. _ You’re quite nice to look at, but I think I’m much too pretty to be killed by my sister.” His vanity is almost endearing, instead of annoying. “Do you have a fraternal twin, so I can date him?” I’m speechless; is he hitting on me, even though I’m his sister’s mate? “I have three older brothers.” I finally choke out. “Sorry to say it, but I don’t think any of them would go for you.” A corner of his mouth quirks up in half a smirk. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No. Not really. You’re a lot nicer than Boudicca, so it helps.” He gives me a slight pat on the back. “No problem, Aisling. It’ll be our secret. Boudicca doesn’t have to know everything.”

“Why is your hair blue?” I blurt suddenly, unable to stop myself from asking the question that’s been nagging me ever since I met him. “I was born with it. Sort of. My magic has always been more grounded in the elements, rather than song, and when I began to train in the elemental control of water my hair began to shift from gray to blue. After the castle library caught on fire and I was able to stop the blaze, it stayed that way.” At the mention of a library, I immediately perk up. Gwynfor notices. “You’re more of a scholar than a fighter, aren’t you?”

“That obvious?” He nods, swinging his legs around from the side of the chair so that he can stand up. “Come on. I’ll give you the grand tour. But first, we need to disguise you a bit.” He begins to hum a song that sounds vaguely like a sea shanty; a few moments later, my hair is slate-gray. “If anyone asks--your name is Quinn. You’re visiting from the south of the country. Ah, and you’ve taken a vow of silence so as to better focus on your research.”

“Is the vow of silence really necessary?” I can’t help but grumble. “Yes. Your accent is thicker than pastry dough. If anyone hears you speak, you’ll be dead before you can open a book.” I shrug, because his words are true. Compared to his light speech, mine is a massive bear. The two of us walk through what feels like an endless amount of corridors until Gwynfor stops at a set of double doors and unlocks them with a skeleton key that's hanging around his neck. “Welcome to the library. Try not to blow anything up.”

“How am I supposed to communicate with you?” I whisper. He smirks, and a second later a cold feeling works its way into my mind.  _ Just think and I’ll be able to hear you. _

_ Convenient. Can we go already? _ He lets out a small chuckle and guides me into the library. The sheer size of the place is what takes me aback at first; it’s twice the size of the library back home. The smell of ink and paper is the second thing I notice.  _ I think I could live here forever. _ I think towards Gwynfor.  _ That might be the best idea you’ve had yet.  _ A woman with sea-green hair walks up to us, arms occupied with a massive stack of books that nearly reach her chin. “Morning, Gwynfor.” She calls as she offloads the books on a worktable. “Who’s your friend?”

“Morning, Deryn. This is Quinn. She comes from the south and is visiting the capital for the first time. I agreed to show her our library.”

“A pleasure to meet you.” She murmurs, and I nod back. She looks confused when I don’t speak, and Gwynfor explains to her that ‘Quinn’ has taken a vow of silence. Surprisingly, she buys it without much thought. “Ah. I understand. Some things are better understood in the quiet.” As she disappears back into the stacks, Gwynfor turns to me. “So, what do you want to see?”

_ Do you have anything on the origins of our kinds? _ At my request, he freezes. “Why that?” I choose my words carefully.  _ There is a book in the library in the Darkstar castle. It stated that we weren’t always at war, but that we were once allies. I need to find out more. _

_ Then I’ll help you. You aren’t the only one who wants to stop this damned war.  _ “Deryn?” He calls, and she returns almost immediately. “Would you mind sending someone to the kitchens? We’re going to need coffee.  _ Lots  _ of coffee.”


	5. Boudicca

The satisfying  _ thud  _ of a dummy’s head hitting the straw strewn across the dungeon floor relaxes me--but not for long. I’ve decapitated a dozen of them in an attempt to curb my anger at my cursed Darkstar princess of a mate. For her to use her magic on me like that hurt me in more ways than one--not that I’d admit it out loud, but still. When I was younger and more naive, I used to daydream about who my mate was. If they were close by or if I’d have to travel the world to find them, or if they would somehow find me. Since I was the crown princess, it was hoped that my mate was of the male variety, so I could bear an heir, but the truth is that I didn’t care if my mate was male, female, or something else entirely. Just as long as I had someone to love, and someone that loved  _ me _ .

“Your Majesty?” I turn around to find a gray-haired woman standing behind me, wringing her hands nervously. It takes me a moment to realise it’s my Darkstar mate, but with somewhat altered features. “Come to beg for forgiveness?” I ask dryly, turning back away from her. “No. Well, yes, and no. I am sorry for using my magic against you the way I did.”

“And?” I press, still not facing her. “That’s all.” Interesting. I finally turn back to face her and notice the color has returned to her hair. Guess Gwynfor’s spell wore off. “You were right, you know.” I admit softly. “I  _ am _ a stuck-up bitch.”

“Is that your version of an apology?” I let out a sharp laugh. “It’s as close as you’ll get to one. I’m not very good at admitting that I’m wrong. Terrible at it, in fact. But, as much as I don’t like it, there’s something about you that makes me want to be honest.”

“Careful there. Keep it up and people might think you’re being nice to me.” I smirk, but there’s no truth to it. “Not a chance, little Darkstar. Now, what were you and my brother up to? I know you didn’t disguise yourself.”

“We were in the library, trying to find some way to stop the war. I know, it’s stupid, but before I came here, I happened upon a book in the library up north that said our kinds were allies once. That we weren’t always at war. It got me thinking that I could maybe find something in your library that backed it up.”

“Did you?” She nods, but barely. “Yeah. The island was once one, no border or cursed forest to be had. About half a millennium ago, the first of our kind appeared. A Weaver man with silver hair, a Darkstar woman with black eyes. As more came out of the woodwork, a single society was formed. Two magic-using species working together.”

“So what happened two hundred years later?” A sigh. “Besides the blood spilling and the forest becoming cursed? I don’t know. The only books Gwynfor and I were able to find either stopped at the beginning of Weaver-Darkstar society or started at the beginning of the war. It’s almost like someone doesn’t want us to know what happened over those two centuries.”

“The Lost Years. I find it hard to believe that nobody’s alive from that time period. Then again...they were probably all killed.” I shiver, the room having suddenly grown cold. Then again, I  _ am  _ wearing a sleeveless shirt. “Are you alright?”

“Just a bit cold.” She takes her jacket off and holds it out to me; I wordlessly slip it on. It’s a bit small on me, considering I have several inches of height and more than a few pounds of muscle on her, but it’s warm, and not just from the fabric. “Thank you. You shouldn’t be so kind to me.” She frowns, her expression shifting from contemplation to... _ sadness _ ? “Boudicca, I-”

“Holy fuck, you have to see this.” Gwynfor interrupts as he bursts into the room. He takes in the sight: me and the princess conversing almost civilly, me wearing her jacket. “What’s going on, Gwynfor?” I sigh, turning to my brother. “There’s a ship approaching the harbour. It’s from the mainland.”

“Fuck.” I swear, running a hand through my hair. “Send Feidlimid and Odhrán. They’re our best diplomats. I’ll be there as fast as possible” As he nods and ducks out of the room, I look at my mate. “What were you going to say before we were interrupted?” She blinks once, then twice. “I was going to say that I  _ want  _ to be kind to you, but you’re making it a little hard. Gwynfor...he told me that you hate me because I’m everything you’re supposed to hate. I understand that. I can only hope that, with time, you won’t hate me so much.”

“Only time will tell.” She smiles softly. “You should probably go see what’s happening with that ship. Go be the queen your people need you to be.” With that, she leaves, and for the second time today I’m alone. I quickly rush back to my quarters, where I put on a long, light coat and boots, then reach for my crown, adjusting it so it arches above my brow. It takes a simple teleportation spell for me to reach the harbour, where Feidlimid and Odhrán Slane wait for me. Twins, like me and Gwynfor, but they look alike to the point of creepiness. “Do we know what they want?”

“Five gold marks says it’s a proposal for you.” And here we go. Apart from being shrewd diplomats, the Slane twins are also likely to place a bet on just about anything. Luckily for them, I’m in a betting mood. “Ten. And there’s another ridiculous courting present to come with it.”

“Fifteen if it’s another hideous necklace.” Feidlimid counters as the gangplank descends and a weaselly-looking man walks down it, an ornately carved wooden box in his hands. “Your Majesty.” He bows upon reaching me, and waits there. I make him bow for a full minute before I tell him to rise. “Why are you here?”

“Our queen would like to propose an alliance. One that she believes would be mutually beneficial.”

“Then why is she not here herself?” I scoff, looking down the bridge of my nose at him. “Come back with a queen or not at all. You may leave the gift she sent, but that is all. My advisors will schedule an appointment if your queen agrees.” The tail of my coat sweeps behind me as I turn and walk back down the dock, Feidlimid and Odhrán following me close behind. “Feidlimid, who won the bet?”

“None of us.” Odhrán answers for his sister. “It’s not a marriage proposal, but the gift isn’t quite hideous.” I motion for her to hand the box over and open it. Inside is a simple pair of silver earrings set with moonstones, and a matching bracelet, a note written on cream-coloured paper tucked into a corner of the lid. The handwriting is familiar,  _ too  _ familiar, and it’s only then that I realise that the queen who’s proposed this alliance is one I knew more intimately than either one of us would ever care to admit.

_ From one queen to another--gifts are only as good as those who give them. _

_ Miss me, shpirti? _

_ -HRM Teuta Maliqi of Shqipëria _


	6. Aisling

_ Two months later… _

It’s late at night, and I’ve just left the library and am heading back to my quarters when I hear a scream. A scream that tugs at my heart in every way possible.

_ Boudicca. _

I run as fast as I can to the door to her chambers and try to turn the handle, but it’s locked. I curse, and with a little effort (okay, a lot of effort) melt the lock and rush in. She’s thrashing wildly in her bed, sweat beading her forehead, repeating the same words over and over. “Don’t hurt her...please...don’t hurt her.”

“Boudicca!” I don’t think about the fact that she still hasn’t warmed up to me. I immediately sit beside her and gather her into my arms, shaking her gently. “Boudicca, wake up!” Her eyes fly open, the whites almost completely taken over by silver. “Aisling?” My name coming from her lips is one of the best things I’ve heard in my life, but I shove the thought aside, overcome with the need to protect her. “I heard you scream. I thought the worst.”

“It was just a nightmare.” She murmurs, but doesn’t push me off. “Who were they hurting in your dream?” Even though she was screaming just moments before, she laughs, although it’s shaky. “You. They were torturing you and forcing me to watch.”

“I’m here. Nobody’s hurt me.” A moment later, she says something that shocks me. “Stay.” The single word, although a shock, makes me feel warm inside. “You...want me to sleep in the same bed as you? I thought you hated me.”

“I don’t know how I feel about you. But I need someone here to hold me and keep the nightmares away. Who better than my mate? Please, Aisling.” Her voice cracks as she speaks, sounding as if she’s about to cry. “Don’t leave me.” I motion for her to scoot over a bit, then swing my legs onto the bed so I’m lying right next to her. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t want to see you in pain or afraid. So, if me staying the night with you is what it takes, then I’ll stay.” She’s hesitant at first, but lays her head on my chest a few moments after. I wrap my arms around her, noticing for the first time just how thin she is. “Good night, Aisling.” She whispers. My heart beats faster at her words. This woman is my mate, my everything.

Are we a perfect match?

Perhaps not.

But I’m falling more in love with her every day that I’m near her. “Good night, Boudicca.”  _ Good night, love of my life,  _ I add in my head. I fall asleep to the sound of her breathing, a small comfort in this crazy world.

The next morning, I wake up to sunlight streaming in through the windows and Boudicca sprawled across me, one of her hands somehow intertwined with mine. As I look down at her silver head of hair, she shifts a little, the pressure on my chest lightening as she rolls off of me and sits up. “Are you feeling better?” I ask. Her hair falls across her face as she turns to look at me. “A bit. Thank you, little Darkstar.”

“So we’re back to you calling me that?” Wait...is she  _ blushing _ ? “Only in public. In private, though, I think I  _ will  _ use your name.”

“You never told me why that ship came from the mainland.” She arches a silver eyebrow. “You’re supposed to be smart, aren’t you? Why would a ship come from the mainland?” I think it over. One scenario stands out, and it makes my blood boil. “A marriage proposal from the queen of Shqipëria. Did you turn it down?”

“I told the envoy that the queen should come herself, not send someone in her place. However, it was a proposed alliance, not a marriage proposal. Are you jealous?” Even though I am, I don’t admit it. “I’m your mate. We slept in the same bed. And yet, you’re entertaining an  _ alliance  _ with a foreign queen?”

“So you  _ are  _ jealous. Don’t you worry, I have no real plans to marry the Shqip queen  _ or  _ ally with her. She and I are too similar. We would be like two squabbling cats. Plus, as I said before, Weaver society values the mating bond above all, including politics.” She offers me a small smile. “You’re not in danger of being replaced. Not at all. In fact, I have a job for you.”

“What is it?” My eagerness makes her laugh. “The Winter Solstice is coming up soon. Traditionally, we hold a masquerade. It just so happens that I need a date. Would you care to accompany me?” I nod. “Yes. I would like that very much. But, I have to ask. How much longer are you going to keep me hidden from the public?”

“The only reason I am keeping you  _ hidden  _ is to keep you  _ safe. _ Do you really not think your father has spies here? If he finds out you’re alive and living among us, and willingly at that, he’ll kill you--or worse. I don’t want you dead, Aisling. I haven’t for a while.

“Well, that’s certainly a comfort. Are we going to get out of bed, or just stay here all day?” Her laugh as she swings her legs around and stands gives me my answer. “We’ve got things to do, little Darkstar. Follow me. I have something to show you.” I let her lead me to the very edge of her room, where she shows me a hidden door and presses slightly to open it. It leads into an adjoining bedroom, cozier than her grand quarters, but still pretty big. I wait for her to explain; it takes a little while, but eventually, she says quietly, “This is the consort’s suite. These are their quarters after marriage and subsequent coronation. If you feel comfortable doing it, I would like you to move in here. So you can be closer to me.”

“Are you proposing marriage, your Majesty?” She shakes her head. “Not quite yet. Maybe with time. For now, I think we need to get you some new clothes. You look like a ruffian, not a scholar.”

“Maybe that’s because I’m a princess and not quite either one of those things. Even though I would gladly give up the title and live as a commoner for the rest of my life.” I’ve never liked the pageantry of royal life, the politics and crowns. The only reason I would want to stay in the life is standing next to me. “Go get dressed, Aisling. I’ll meet you out there in a few minutes.” I head back to the quarters that I’ve spent the past two months in and quickly throw on some fresh clothes, then step outside to meet her. She’s wearing nearly all gray, save for the lavender-colored scarf wound around her neck and the amethyst ring on her left hand. “You look very nice.” I blurt. She smirks, casting an eye over me. “You don’t look too bad yourself.” She offers me an arm, and I loop mine through. In the blink of an eye, we’re standing in a bustling square, people all around. An unfamiliar sound rings through my ears; it’s the laughter of children. “People are happy here.”

“Why does that surprise you so much?” She asks softly, nodding at passersby. It’s amazing how the queen can walk alongside her people unburdened; back home, I couldn’t go outside the palace without at least two guards. “Because the place I once called home is essentially a police state. After my mother died, my father threw the country into lockdown. It’s remained like that for thirteen years.”

“Are the rumours true?” Her question strikes me to the bone.  _ She knows what only my brothers and I do, what the rest of the island thinks is only a cautionary tale. _ I choose my words carefully. “To an extent. There have been weeks at a time that he’s disappeared and refused to come out of his study. Some days he is kind and loving, others he is...violent. Extremely so.”

“Has he hurt you?” Her voice hardens, and I have a feeling that if I told her  _ yes,  _ she’d go north and kill my father with her bare hands. Thankfully, the opposite is true. “Not me. But my brothers weren’t spared from his wrath. I got good at healing magic fast, because it turned out I needed to.” I follow her into a warmly lit shop full of fabrics and mannequins. There’s a spicy aroma in the air that I manage to pin down as nutmeg. “Boudicca, have you brought me a new customer?” A woman dressed entirely in light blue, from surcoat to shoes, comes out of a back room, going to embrace Boudicca. “In a sense. Marine, this is Aisling. My mate. She is in need of just about everything, including suitable attire for the Solstice masquerade.” Marine’s eyes light up at the mention of the masquerade. “Well, allow me to give you my congratulations, your Majesty. May the two of you have a long and happy life together. Aisling, if you’ll just give me your measurements, I’ll have your order sent to the castle by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Measurements?” I repeat, confused. She and Boudicca laugh. “Oh, dear. We’re going to be here for a while.” After three hours, we finally leave, and I feel exhausted. I tell her as much, and she rolls her eyes at my predicament. “You’re a baby.” I stick my tongue out at her, as if to prove her point. It makes her laugh. “Who knew that the Weaver Queen has a sense of humor?”

“Shut up.” She laughs, giving me a playful shove. “You just haven’t gotten to see it. Hungry?” I nod even as my stomach growls a bit. “Come on.” We spend the rest of the morning eating pastries and making conversation about the small things in life. I learn that her favourite color is light purple, that she hates sugar in her tea, and that she’d rather have cats than children. I agree with her on the last part. “You have no idea how many people have told me  _ to my face _ that I better find a consort so I can produce an heir. Would they say the same to me if I had a dick?” I choke on the scone I was eating as she says that, and she pats me on the back to help. “Why’d that shock you so much?”

“I’m not used to women using such harsh language.” I murmur in a low voice. “Call it a result of my sheltered upbringing. You know, you can be nice when you want to be. I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“I’m only being nice right now because my stomach is full of pastry.” She tries to deflect my compliment, but it’s half-hearted. “You keep telling yourself that, Boudicca.”


	7. Boudicca

_ Three weeks later _ .

The moment I step into my Solstice dress, I know it’s the best one yet. Marine truly outdid herself. I look like a living snowstorm in the silver and white gown, the silver layers of the skirt giving way to pure white at the very bottom. The accompanying mask is silver as well, studded with small red jewels. I’m not wearing my crown tonight, so as to better aid in my disguise, but my hair would make anyone stand out. “You’re going to be the talk of the city tonight. Then again, aren't you always?” Gwynfor murmurs as he puts on his own dark blue mask. “Are you jealous, baby brother?”

“Only of the fact that you’ll have someone by your side. Some people have all the luck.”

“So now  _ you  _ want a princess, too? Go find yourself one. Or better yet, go marry the Shqip queen so we have an alliance.” He laughs. “You and I both know that I prefer males to females, although both are rather nice to have around. Your princess is waiting for you downstairs. Don’t make her stand there too long, or I just might snatch her up myself.” As he slips out of the room, I give myself a once-over. Mask? Check. Blade, strapped to my leg? Check. Diamonds and rubies? Check and check. I walk to the top of the stairs, suddenly overcome with nerves.

_ What if, what if, what if? _

“Boudicca?” Aisling’s voice, although muffled, calms me down. I descend the stairs and am met with a... _ shocking  _ sight. Instead of her normal dark clothing, Aisling is wearing shades of silver that match my attire perfectly. Her dark hair is swept back into an elegant chignon, a pearl-gray mask covering most of the upper half of her face. “You--you look absolutely stunning.” She stutters, the visible part of her face flushed pink. “So do you. I guess Marine wanted us to be a matched set. Shall we?” She hesitates at first, but then holds her hand out to me. I take it, her skin warm against mine, and together we walk down the hallway in silence. The silence soon becomes deafening. “What can I expect from this ball?”

“Good alcohol, better food, decent company. Snow. Dancing.” She winces at the last word. “Then I should probably warn you that I have two left feet.” As we near the ballroom, I murmur, “Just follow my lead and you’ll do fine.” She whispers something under her breath that I can’t hear, but I decide to ignore it. The ballroom is just as silver and white as I am, with basically every guest dressed in the same colours. Some were brave enough to wear shades of ice blue or pale green. “Dance with me?” I hear her ask softly as a slow waltz begins to play. “I thought you couldn’t dance.” I reply, even as I place a hand on her shoulder and take her hand in mine. Her other hand goes to my waist quickly, and we begin to dance, my eyes never leaving hers. “Liar, liar.” I murmur after a few minutes, surprised. “You  _ can  _ dance.”

“A bit. Not as well as you, though, my queen.” The words  _ my queen  _ send a shockwave down my spine. She’s defected, as much as she could have, I guess. If she truly considers me to be her monarch, then that means she’s on my side. “You look like a swan. I, on the other hand, am a duck.”

“Ducks are generally nicer than swans. Trying to make a point?” She dips her head, almost as if nodding. “I might be. I was nice to you before you returned the favor.” I make sure nobody’s listening before I reply. “That’s because I’m not likely to trust someone at the drop of a hat. Does that make me a swan? Perhaps. But I haven’t bitten anyone who’s tried to touch me.”

“Yet.” She murmurs, a hint of a smile on her lips. A moment later, there’s a cool feeling at the back of my mind, like when Gwynfor and I talk without using our voices.  _ Can you hear me?  _ The voice isn’t Gwynfor’s, but Aisling’s.  _ How’d you learn to do this?  _ I ask, staring at her in wonder.  _ Take a guess. _

_ I’m going to have to talk to Gwynfor about telling our secrets to a Darkstar. I will admit that this makes it easier to have a private conversation with you, though.  _ Just then, the music switches to a livelier piece, one that makes her blink in shock at the tempo change.  _ Dance with me, little Darkstar? _

_ I already was.  _ Even as she replies, she pulls me closer, her body molding to mine as we dance.  _ I think I like this kind of dancing better. _ His words burn through me, even though the air is cool.  _ Come with me after the song ends. I need a bit of a break.  _ The end comes soon, and I take her hand and lead her out of the ballroom onto one of several balconies. A light snow is falling, the moon is full, and the air is crisp and clear. Perfect weather. “So...how are you enjoying the Solstice?” I notice she’s removed her mask, and I do, too, so I can see her more clearly. “It’s lovely. Quite a happy celebration. We don’t really celebrate the Solstice, so this is a welcome change.” I decide to ask her a question that’s been on my mind for the majority of the night. “Why did you call me your queen?”

“Because you are.” She answers almost immediately. Her certainty gives me comfort, but unease as well. “You are my mate, Boudicca, but you’re more than that, too. I would follow you to the ends of the earth and into battle as well.”

“Aisling, what are you trying to say?” I finally demand. Her brown eyes are filled with warmth and determination as she gets down on one knee, an arm across her chest, and speaks. “What I’m trying to say is that I, Aisling Rathnait Gylden, princess of the Darkstar dynasty, reject my title and all it stands for, and pledge myself to the court of  Boudicca Ó Ceithearnaigh, the Weaver Queen. If she’ll have me.”

“Stand up. You’re making a spectacle where there should be none.” She sheepishly gets to her feet. “Welcome to the court, Aisling. There’s just one thing that needs to be done.” I remove my knife from the sheath on my leg and use it to create a deep well in my palm, then offer it to her. She does the same, although hesitantly, and when it’s done I press my palm to hers, the wounds meeting, our blood mingling. “By my blood and yours, I declare you a member of the Weaver Court. You are bound to me, just as I am bound to you. Turn against me and it will kill you.” I give her the same speech that I gave the rest of my Court, a speech that has been used for centuries. “I will never turn against you. You have my word.”

“How can you be so sure?” Even though she’s probably telling the truth, I still have to question everything. It’s in my nature. “Because I think--no, I  _ know  _ that I’m in love with you, Boudicca. I love you, and it pains me to even think of hurting you.” I’m speechless but want to scream at the same time.

_ Aisling is in love with me. _

Sure, she’s my mate, but I never expected her to say this. “Boudicca?” Her hand is suddenly on my arm, a concerned expression marring her face. “I have to leave.” I murmur, and put my mask back on, pushing past her, through the crowd, and away from everything I know. I manage to make it back to my quarters, where I push off my heavy gown and all its accessories until I’m left in my underwear, and finally do what I wanted to.

I scream.

I probably shatter a glass or two, but who cares? Nobody’s told me they loved me like that,  _ ever. _ My reflection in the mirror that takes up a good part of a wall catches my eye; I look like a ghost with my pale skin and silver hair. What’s most distinctive, however, are the three lines of scar tissue that run across my stomach. Scars that were given to me when I was younger, but that I kept as a reminder of what I went through. “Why would he ever love me?” I whisper out loud, reaching out to touch my reflection. A knock on the door makes me jump. I don’t respond, but the person on the other side calls my name softly. “Boudicca, please let me in.” 

_ Aisling. _

“Not right now.”

“Okay. I’ll just stay here until you want to see me.” I hear her sit with her back against the door; I do the same. “Can we talk?”

“We  _ can.  _ What if I don’t want to?” Her soft laugh wafts through the heavy oak door. “Then we can just sit here in silence. Or I can sing to you, if it’ll help.” That piques my curiosity. “You sing? Since when?”

“Since I was a child. I had nightmares often, and my mother would sing me to sleep. She would teach me songs from her homeland in the Rus. It helped.” I take a deep breath and nod, then remember she can’t see me. “Okay. Sing to me.” There’s a brief moment of silence before I hear her begin to sing, the sharp and at the same time soft tones of the language washing over me. By the second chorus, I’m humming along, my magic reacting to the song in the form of thick silver mist wrapping around my body. “May I come in now?” She murmurs a few moments after she stops singing. “The lock still hasn’t been replaced since you melted it.” I grab the lightest of the covers on my bed and wrap myself in it as she opens the door and steps into the room. “Are you alright?"

“I’m not an easy person to love, Aisling.” I don’t answer her question on purpose. I’m  _ not  _ alright. I’m a total mess. “I know. But I’m willing to try, if you’ll let me.” Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve flung myself into her arms, almost desperately. She’s shocked at first, but then wraps me in a tight embrace. “I will let you try to love me. I can promise that much.” My voice is muffled by her shoulder, but she understands me. “I...I hope that one day we’ll love and trust each other. For now, though, I’ll take this. Holding you and hoping to make you feel safe.” She glances down, eyes widening at the sight of me in my underwear, wrapped in a blanket. “You need some clothes.”

“I can dress myself, Aisling.” I protest weakly, but she’s already gotten me a set of nightclothes out of my armoire and pressed them into my hands. “This is part of the way I love the people I love. I take care of them in the small ways.” I put on the nightclothes she gave me and turn to look at her. “The small ways, hmm? So if I asked you to get me a plate of ginger cakes from the kitchen…”

“I would get them for you, but only if you promised to share. Are you hungry?” I nod slowly, hearing my stomach rumble. “I didn’t manage to eat anything tonight.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back. Do you want anything else, besides the ginger cakes? Do you need some water?” Her fussing is endearing, but it’s starting to get on my nerves. “No, that’s it. Get something for yourself if you’re hungry, though.” I sit by the fire and wait for her to come back; she returns five minutes later with the ginger cakes, along with a pitcher of water. "Thought I said no water."  She laughs, a sliver of white teeth showing. “My mother taught me that it's better to get something sooner rather than later, just in case. She would have liked you, I think.” I have to scoff at that. “How do you know? Was she anything like me?” To my surprise, she nods. “She was. Headstrong, intelligent, and beautiful. Knew her way around a blade. Devoted to her family. Sound familiar?”

“A bit. Wait a minute--how did a woman from the Rus end up here?” The Rus is thousands of miles from our island, so it’s strange that she would have come here, let alone become queen consort. “Diplomatic mission. She came as an ambassador and stayed as a queen. Died as a queen.” She’s silent after that. “I’m sorry that I used her memory the way I did, Aisling.” I murmur, touching her shoulder gently. “It was a terrible thing for me to do.”

“Looks like you’re getting better at apologizing.” She tries to crack a joke, but it doesn’t work. She still looks sad. “Boudicca?”

“What?”

“Can I trust you with a secret?” We’ve abandoned the sweets and turned to something that I feel is far more serious. “Of course you can. I’m your mate, after all.” She scoots closer to me, her light-tan skin bathed in gold in the glow of the fire. “My mother didn’t kill herself, Boudicca.” The news is rather shocking; everyone knew that the Darkstar queen slit her arms open and bled out. At least, that was the official story. Now Aisling is telling me it was all a lie. “Then who killed her?” I have a feeling I already know the answer, from what she’s told me of her life in the north, but I let her tell me, anyway. “My father did.” I quickly do the maths; she told me the north has been a police state since her mother’s death thirteen years ago. She was only eight when she died. “We actually have something in common. Your father was responsible for the deaths of our parents, whether indirectly or directly. Gods.”

“They had nothing to do with it.” Gone is her normally cheerful demeanor, replaced with an attitude that  _ I  _ would be comfortable in. “I watched him open her throat with his dagger like it was nothing. After, his senses switched. He started sobbing over her corpse, as if it would somehow bring her back after what he did.”

“He doesn’t know you know what really happened.” A small shake of the head. “I ran before he could see me standing in the doorway. I kept thinking, what if I could have stopped him? What if-” I cut her off by hugging her tightly. “Aisling, you can’t beat yourself up over the past.”

“I’ve been trying not to for the last thirteen years. It hasn’t quite worked.” Something liquid hits my shoulder; she’s crying. “Let it out. I’m here for you.” I hold her as she cries, the pain of nearly a decade and a half pouring through her.  _ She’s just as broken as I am,  _ I realise with a start. I thought she was weak, but it turned out that she's strong like me--she’s been holding this to herself for most of her life. “I’m here for you.” I repeat as I cradle my mate in my arms.

How can I put her back together?

_ Can  _ I put her back together?

“Can I stay with you tonight?” She lets out a small sniffle, and I can’t help but feel her pain. She needs me, and I will do whatever it takes to make her happy again. “Yes. Just don’t get the pillows wet with your tears, alright?” She lets out a shaky laugh--progress. Small progress, but progress nonetheless. “Alright. I’ll try my best. Let me get changed.” She goes to her quarters and returns barely five minutes later, dressed for bed. “Come on.” I climb into bed and pat the space beside me. “My swan teeth are out of commission.”

“Very funny, Boudicca.” She murmurs, slipping into bed beside me. She hesitates for a moment before speaking again. “Would it be alright if I held you?” In response, I reach out and take her hand in mine so that our fingers are laced together. “If it helps you, then yes. You can hold me.” A moment later, I’m swathed in her embrace, my head resting on her shoulder. “Sleep well.” I murmur, drowsiness already beginning to take over. “Sleep well.” She repeats, and I quickly fall asleep, lulled by her shallow breathing. A dream hits me without warning. I’m standing in a throne room, one that’s a far cry from my own. Black marble is everywhere in the decor, a throne of twisted copper on the far side of the room.  _ This must be the Darkstar throne room. The Darkstar throne. _

_ “Make your choice, little Weaver.”  _ I tear my eyes away from the throne to see Aisling on her knees, a sword pointed to her throat, an older man that could only be her father on the other end of the blade, three men--Aisling’s brothers, I realise--standing behind him.  _ “Give me the crown, or she dies.”  _ I glance down and see a dark metal crown in my hands, studded with pieces of obsidian.  _ “Don’t listen to him, Boudicca.”  _ Aisling manages to choke out before her father backhands her with his sword, sending her across the floor, landing barely a yard away from me. I rush to help her, healing the small cut that her father’s sword left on her neck.  _ “Shut your mouth, you filthy traitor. To think that I was going to make you my heir. You could have been queen!” _

_ “I never  _ wanted _ to be queen, Father!”  _ Aisling screams as she gets to her feet, strength returning thanks to the small kernel of power I gave her. _ “I only wanted you to be a good father and husband. But you failed on both of those aspects. You killed our mother,”  _ she gestures to her brothers, _ “and destroyed our minds, and for what? Your pointless war? A war that you never could have hoped to win?”  _ She takes the crown from me and puts it on her head without hesitation. The moment it touches her brow, her eyes turn solid black, and power thrums through the air.  _ “If I am a traitor, then what does that make you?” _

I bolt awake, gasping for air. What the hell did I just witness? Am I suddenly a clairvoyant? I look over at Aisling, who’s still sleeping peacefully, her hair slightly mussed.  _ I don’t want her to die. _ Was my dream a prediction of the future? Will my mate have to turn against her brothers and kill her father? I lie down again and draw closer to her, then put my arm around her waist. She murmurs something in her sleep and pulls me closer. Gods, I’m lucky. Not only did I find my mate, but she’s in love with me--and I think I’m starting to fall in love with  _ her. _


	8. Aisling

“Boudicca!” She appears a moment after I call her name. “What have you found?” I scramble down the library ladder to land by her side. Over these past few months, I’ve gotten even closer to her than I had thought possible. We’ve been sleeping together more and more often, shared countless midnight snacks, and drunkenly confessed secrets to each other, although that last one hasn’t happened so much. I shake the thought off and tilt the book I found so she can see the page. “There’s a tunnel like yours closer to the Darkstar castle. If we find it-”

“We might be able to break in and try to recruit one or more of your brothers?” I blink, startled that she guessed my plan so easily. “Yes. How did you know that I had that in mind?” She laughs softly. “I know you better than you think. Let’s discuss this over some tea, shall we?” Moments later, we’re sitting at a table in one of her favourite coffeehouses, a steaming pitcher of milky spiced chai between us. “So. Which one of your brothers is the least loyal to your father?”

“He isn’t my father.” I murmur. “He stopped being my father the moment he slit my mother’s throat. Use his name.  _ Urien _ . To answer your question, however, Cystennin is the least loyal to him, besides myself.” I hesitate before I continue to speak. “He got the worst end of the stick. Urien hated that his eldest son and heir had any sort of emotion, and tried to beat it out of him more than once. Forced me to watch it.  _ This is what you get for being a weakling,  _ he’d say as he beat my brother near an inch of his life. I would heal his bruises after, mend his broken bones, but he would never let me heal his face, for fear that he might hurt me, too.”

“He’s our best bet, then?” I nod. “He has no love for Urien. If anything, he’s been eager to overthrow him and take the crown for himself.”

“Then we start our search for the tunnel tomorrow. I want to ask you something.” I lean back in my chair, searching for any tic or expression that’ll betray what she’s thinking. Nothing obvious shows, so I accept. “Ask away.”

“I want to announce our bond to my people.  _ Our  _ people.” My heart skips a beat. Does this mean… “Why the change of heart?” I try to ask the question as casually as possible, but my voice cracks a little. “Because I’m in love with you, Aisling.” She admits. “I have been for a while now.” She laughs, but it’s shaky. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for the past month.”

“Then why don’t you?” The words come out before my mind registers what I’ve said. She stares at me for a moment, dumbfounded, before leaning across the table and pressing her lips to mine,  _ hard. _ She kisses like she fights: pure determination and emotion. It only takes a second before I kiss her back, my hands reaching out to cup her face. “Wow.” I murmur, unable to tear my eyes away from her face. “Wow is right. You aren’t half bad at kissing.”

“Neither are you. When and where do we announce the bond?” My eagerness seems to shock her and make her happy at the same time. “Would tonight be alright with you?”

“You’re the queen. Is it alright with  _ you _ ?” I retort, pulling my coat over my shoulders and walking out with her. Her hand finds mine as we walk, our fingers coming together. “Obviously. Honestly, sometimes you make me question just how smart you are."

“I’m plenty smart with books, but not as much with emotions. What should I expect from tonight? Do I have to prepare a speech or anything?” She laughs at the suggestion. “Nothing of that sort at all. There’s just one thing. We have to make a trip to the vault.” When we get back to the castle, she leads me down past the dungeons, past what I thought were the depths of the place, finally stopping at an ornately carved bronze door. There’s no visible keyhole, just a small piece of metal jutting out in the center. “Everything has a price.” She murmurs as she presses her hand to the metal, cutting herself, a few drops of blood spilling out. The door shudders, making a clunking sound before it creaks open, revealing a room filled with valuables. Gold, silver, precious gems...I've never had a talent for finances, but it must be worth billions of marks. The back wall is lined with several rows of velvet-covered shelves. They’re full of crowns, tiaras, and diadems, and I know instinctively that these are the most valuable pieces in this vault. “Pick one.”

“A crown?” She’s rolling her eyes, but there’s no exasperation behind it. If anything, she’s doing it for drama. “Yes, Aisling. A crown. You may no longer be a princess, but, if all goes well, you’ll be the queen consort. You’ll need a crown, for ceremony at most. So choose one.” I look at the array; it could take me hours to pick one. I soon find what I want on the bottom shelf, though: a crown of dull gray silver and blue sapphires. It’s the simplest piece I could find, and yet when she places it on my head it feels  _ right. _ “It looks good on you.”

“Should I change?” I ask as we step back out of the vault, glancing down at my simple clothes. She shakes her head, humming a few notes to change their colour from blue and brown to silver. “Not you. I do, however. Meet me in my quarters in five minutes.” I manage to find my way back upstairs just in time. What I see in front of me is the most beautiful sight of my life. Boudicca has changed out of her plain blue tunic and pants into her silver armour, the Weaver crown glittering on her head, a gleaming red cloak rippling behind her. She looks every bit the queen that she is, bordering on looking like a goddess. Her face turns a slight pink when I tell her. “Flattery gets you nowhere.” I can tell she likes the praise, though, because she walks with a slight spring in her step after. “Where to now?”

“The actual Court. You’re technically already a member, but now, you’ll be presented as my mate and given a proper swearing-in.” I’m a bit nervous, but one look from her calms my nerves. The doors to the throne room loom ahead of us, opening with a single movement of Boudicca’s finger. It’s nothing like the Darkstar throne room; this one is pure white and silver, with a few smatterings of red here and there. The people waiting for us there are far more colourful than the room itself. I spot Gwynfor’s navy hair, Deryn’s sea-green mane, and half a dozen others who I couldn’t name. “Hello, friends.” Boudicca calls. They turn to look at her, then take me in. Only Gwynfor seems relaxed; the others are confused and potentially on the defensive side. “Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to my mate.”

“Your mate is a fucking  _ Darkstar?! _ ” I find the source of the outburst, a woman dressed entirely in green, her eyes a few shades darker, hair a pitch black. “How do we know she won’t kill you in your sleep?” The  _ thought _ that I would even harm Boudicca makes me angry. “I took the blood oath, same as all of you. But even if I hadn’t, there is no chance in hell that I would ever hurt the woman I love.”

“It’s true.” Gwynfor speaks up, and I’ve never been more grateful that we’re friends. “She’d probably kill herself before harming Boudicca.” Having the queen’s brother on my side is a plus, and the green-clad woman backs down slightly, but not for long. “Wait a minute.  _ You’re _ the princess she was going to kill, aren’t you?” When I nod, she starts laughing. “Oh, the  _ irony _ !”

“No need to take something as serious as a mating bond with a grain of salt, Niamh.” Deryn elbows her in the side, which makes her straighten up. “Right. Apologies, your Majesty.” She bows to Boudicca, who’s smirking at the whole ordeal. “Thank you, Niamh. Yes, Aisling is--or  _ was _ \--a Darkstar princess. She gave up her title when she took the oath. That doesn’t matter. What  _ does  _ matter is that we have a plan to end the damn war. Before that, however, I need to fully swear her in. Gaenor?” A woman whose hair is the colour of blood steps forward, drawing her sword and handing it to Boudicca. “Kneel.” Boudicca murmurs, and I do as she says, bowing my head towards her. The flat of the blade comes to rest on my shoulder as she begins to speak. “Do you swear loyalty to the Weaver throne and monarch?”

“I do.”

“Do you reject any title you bear, or any claim you may have once had to the Darkstar throne?” I’m a little irked at having to repeat what I told her at the masquerade, but I understand. I need to do this in front of the Court, or else nobody will believe me. “I do.”

“Do you swear to protect the Weaver monarch with your life?” That’s an easy answer. “I do.” A brief moment of silence passes before the blade goes to my other shoulder. “By my crown and throne, you are now a member of the Weaver Court. Rise, Aisling Rathnait Chayka, my mate and guard.” I’m floored when I hear the name she speaks.  _ Chayka. _ My mother’s maiden name. The name that I’ve always felt most comfortable using. How did she know? I get to my feet and stand next to her.  _ How did you know? _

_ Gwynfor’s good for some things.  _ She replies as she takes my hand in hers. Standing next to her, I realise that everyone in the room is on one knee, heads bowed. “Rise.” The single word holds more weight than a catapult as they get to their feet and file out of the room. Boudicca and I follow them to an adjoining chamber. The war room. “What’s your plan to stop the war?” The black-haired woman-- _ Niamh _ \--gets straight to the point. “My eldest brother, the crown prince. He wants the king dead as much as we do. We found evidence of a tunnel leading into the Darkstar castle. If I can talk to my brother, I’ll be able to convince him to join our side.”

“Where’s the tunnel?” Gaenor asks, cocking her head to one side. Something about her mannerisms reminds me of a hawk. “I’m not quite sure.” I admit. “The closest to a location that I was able to find is about twenty klicks from the border. It’s as good of a start as any.” Even though we already discussed it beforehand, I turn to Boudicca. “What do you think, my queen?” My use of the title relaxes her instantly, despite it being the most formal thing I can call her. “I think that we need to find it as soon as possible. Caitríona, how fast can you get trackers on the job?” I follow Boudicca’s gaze to a short, muscled woman with ice-white hair and more scar tissue than skin on her arms. “By tonight. Pryderi’s still in the forge, but I’ll let him know what we need.”

“Good. Court adjourned. Gwynfor, be a dear and send out the announcements?” Her brother smirks back at her. “Of course, sister dear.”  _ Announcements for what?  _ I ask her in a thought.  _ The mating bond, silly. What else? _

_ I don’t know, announcing that you’re not as mean as you act?  _ Her hip bumps into mine as we walk, probably on purpose, but I’d never be able to prove it.  _ Don’t be so touchy, Aisling. _

_ Can’t help it. When I’m around you, my emotions get out of control. _


	9. Boudicca

Being a bonded pair is strange. For one thing, the trick that Aisling and I used to speak without speaking is now a natural link. I can talk to her whenever I want with no effort. For another, I now want to kill anyone who looks at her the wrong way. She’s  _ mine _ , and I want the world to know it. There’s just one problem: she’s as possessive of me as I am of her. Some days, it’s like I share my bed with a needy puppy, rather than a woman. “ _ Aisling.  _ Get off me.” I try to push my half-asleep mate off of me and get up, but she only holds me tighter. I finally have to pry her off of me, and even then she lets out a little whine. Like I said: needy puppy. “Come back.” I hear her murmur through a yawn. “It’s too late for that. I’m already out of bed. Don’t be so lazy, we have a meeting to attend.”

“You Weavers and your meetings. Is it about the tunnel?” I nod before realising she probably didn’t see it. “Lucky guess. Caitríona’s trackers think they found it, but none of them have been able to access it. Probably because it only responds to Darkstar magic.”

“So you need me to open it.” She’s suddenly right behind me, her lips ghosting over my neck. “Do we have enough time for a kiss or two?” I turn around and give her a quick kiss. “Is that enough to keep you satisfied for now?” Her brown eyes darken a shade. “For now, my queen. But I can’t wait for more.” I button up my blouse and tuck it into my trousers, then fasten my jacket around my shoulders. “How do I look?”

“Like the queen you are.” The purr in her voice makes my knees weak, but I manage to put myself together. “Get dressed, my pretty mate.”

“Cruel woman. What am I to do with you?” She murmurs, even as she does as I say. Her hands stray to my hips, but I stop her from going any further with a single look. “Not right now. Maybe if you’re  _ good _ , I’ll let you have a taste later.” She pouts as we walk to the war room. “You’re no fun.”

“Not when my queendom is at stake.” I throw open the door and am met with something I didn’t quite expect: Gwynfor and another man locked in an embrace, kissing passionately. Next to me, Aisling stiffens.  _ What’s wrong with her?  _ The other man has jet-black hair and extremely pale skin; he doesn’t look familiar at all. Why would she react like that? Unless…

_ Holy hell. _

“ _ Cystennin?! _ ” Aisling yelling her brother’s name has them breaking apart, looking guilty. “What the  _ fuck  _ are you doing here?”

“You should be  _ grateful  _ I’m here.” Her brother snaps back. "Urien sent me to kill you. You’re a traitor to the throne now, apparently, rather than the favoured princess.” Aisling draws herself to her full height, clearly on the defensive side. “I am no princess. I gave up my title for the woman I love. If that makes me a traitor, so be it.” Cystennin smirks. “Glad to see you’ve grown some thick skin these past months, sister. Congratulations on your bond.”

“And to you on yours, I see.” I reply, still reeling from the fact that I’m not the only one in my family with a Darkstar mate. “How long have you known?” Gwynfor and Cystennin exchange a look before the former finally answers, “Two years.” I do the math, slowly coming to realise that Gwynfor didn’t kill a Darkstar, after all. “You’ve been lying to me for  _ two years _ ?!” The words come out louder than I intended. “Boudicca-”

“Don’t try to apologize. Get out. Both of you.” When they don’t move, I start to hum angrily, my magic swirling around me. “Get. Out.” They finally leave and I bury my face in my hands, letting out a scream. I know Aisling’s probably flinching, but at this point, I don’t care. My brother lied to me, and kept up the lie for two years. “I’m here if you need me.” I step into her embrace, hugging her tightly. “What am I going to do, Aisling?” I whisper, resting my head on her shoulder. “I don’t know, my queen. I only know that you’ll make the right decision. I have faith in you.”

“If only I could have as much faith in myself as you do.” The familiar weight of her arms around me calms me down, if only for a few moments. “You do. You just don’t believe it enough. Trust me, Boudicca. You know what the right thing is to do.” I let out a sigh and let go. “You’re right. I have to do my least favourite thing in the world. Apologise.” And apologise I do. Thankfully, both my brother and his mate accept it. “I understand why you got angry, Boudicca. If anything,  _ I  _ should be the one apologising for lying to you. Can you forgive me?” I can’t stay mad at him for  _ too  _ long; apart from my mate and my court, he’s the only family I have left. “I will. For now. We’ve got more pressing matters at hand.” I turn to face Cystennin, noting for the first time that he has dark blue eyes, not brown ones like I thought he would. “You do realise that if and when Urien finds out you’ve defected, he’ll send someone to kill you as well, right?”

“I don’t give a damn, if you must know.” He replies, oddly cheerful. “The only reason he didn’t kill me before was so he could use me as a punching bag. If he sends someone, I’ll be shocked that he even cares that much.” His bitterness is no surprise; from what Aisling’s told me, I’m more surprised that he isn’t totally heartless. “Then I will grant you asylum. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thank you, your Majesty.” He gives a small bow. “No need for that. We’re family. My name is Boudicca.”

“Oh, thank the gods. I’m tired of an overly formal court. All the posturing and the damned crowns.” I smile to myself; he sounds just like his sister. “This will be a welcome change, then. I must say, you made things a lot easier on our end. We had a plan to sneak her into the Darkstar castle to try and convince you to join us.” He snorts. “Convince me? All you would have had to do was give me a way out and I would have come with you.”

“How  _ did  _ you manage to get out? From what I’ve heard, it’s practically a police state.” He nods his assent. “What you’ve heard is right. To answer your question, however, I  _ offered _ to come kill you, Aisling.”

“Thanks for thinking of me.”

“Urien was going to send a random assassin after you. I stepped in and suggested that it would send a bigger message if I were to do it.” He offers a wry smile. “Turns out he was happy to send his least favourite son after his favourite child.”

“What a dick.” Hearing her swear again makes me laugh a little. So much for disliking harsh language--or maybe she just dislikes it when I’m the one using it. “What now? Half of his children have defected. Urien won’t let this go unpunished.”

“Unfortunately, Gwynfor, you’re correct.” I mutter, pushing my hair away from my face. “This isn’t going to end well. We may as well be flaunting it in his face.” I look up at Aisling. “How likely are your other brothers to join us?” Her wince is the only answer I need. “Not very. Despite years of abuse, they’re still terribly loyal to Urien. They’re more likely to come after us, rather than join us.” I’m so horrified that the only word I can eke out is  _ Why _ . Cystennin answers my question. 

“The twins have always been...twisted. Nioclás is called the  _ Decimator  _ for a reason. The only thing he likes more than executions is the blood that comes with them. Treasach will do anything and torture anyone for a shred of approval from Urien. I guess they saw me get beaten too many times and decided to be as cruel as he was in the hopes that the abuse would pass over them. It didn’t quite work.” He turns to look at his sister. “Why did he never hit you, Aisling?” There’s no cruelty or scorn in his voice, just genuine curiosity. An inkling of an idea that’s been nagging me in the back of my head for a week finally makes sense. “I’ve been asking myself the same question for eighteen years, Cystennin, but I don’t know.” I share a glance with my brother, who gets my drift. "We’ll give you two some time to catch up.”

“Gwynfor, do we have any idea what the Darkstar queen looked like?” I whisper hotly as soon as we leave the room. “No, why?”

“I think I’ve figured out Urien’s weakness. He never laid a hand on Aisling. Why?” I pause for a moment before I drop the bomb. “Because she looks like her mother. Cystennin has blue eyes. I’d bet you anything his other brothers and Urien do, too. But Aisling’s eyes are brown. She has darker skin--well, darker for someone who's spent most of her time in a library--and she has brown hair, not blonde or black like most Darkstars. She looks like she came from the Rus, like her mother. She doesn’t look like the typical Darkstar.”

“You’re right about that. But if Urien sent one son to kill his favourite child-”

“Then it means he probably still cares about Aisling. We can use that to our advantage.” Gwynfor fixes me with a stare that I can only call judgemental. “Do you think she’s going to like being a pawn?” He’s right, but I know that I need to use Aisling as a pawn in my game to win. “This is war. We all have to do things we don’t really like.”

“Sometimes I wish you weren’t right all the time.” The door to the war room opens and Aisling steps out, face marred by some kind of negative emotion.  _ I need you.  _ She sends the three words through our link, and I feel the full weight of them.  _ Alright. Come on.  _ I bid farewell to my brother, Aisling practically dragging me back to our quarters. “What’s wrong?”

“I told Cystennin the truth of our mother’s death. He didn’t seem to care.” Her shoulders slump. “Why is it that, just when I think something’s going right, it always goes terribly wrong?” I gently embrace her, hoping that by touching her I might be able to make her feel better. “Boudicca?” She whispers after a few minutes. “Yeah?”

“Can we do something that’ll take my mind off of this?” An idea hits me. “Come on.” When I lead her into the bathroom, she looks confused. “What are we doing here?”

“You said you needed to relax. I’ll run us a bath. If you’re not comfortable with being naked, you can keep your underclothes on.” I wave my hand to start the water, adding a few calming scents to it. “Trust me, Aisling.”

“I always do.” Even so, she leaves her underclothes on as she slides into the tub, letting out a sigh once she’s submerged in the water. I do the same, if only to make her feel more comfortable. “May I ask you something?”

“You just did.” I murmur, enjoying the heat. “Where did those scars on your stomach come from?” I freeze, despite the scalding temperature and the steam. She notices. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s fine. I was mauled by a bear at thirteen. I almost died, but the healers got to me fast. These scars are all that remain. It’s...hard to talk about.” The water shifts as she pulls me closer to her, so that we’re nose-to-nose. “I understand. I’d show you my scars, but I don’t have any. Except for this.” She adds, holding up the hand that was used for the blood oath. “Soft woman that you are.” I smile as I kiss her, my hands running over her slender shoulders. “I can be rough if you want me to be.”  _ That  _ makes me laugh. “I think we both know who wears the metaphorical pants in this relationship.”

“I know, you’re much more dominant than I am.” I realise that I’m practically straddling her, my chest pressed to hers, and decide to have fun with it. “Oh, my sweet, innocent mate. You have no idea.”


	10. Aisling

Has it really been six months since I was sent to kill Boudicca? Time has flown by since then. I never expected to find my mate--or for me and my brother to defect to the side of the Weavers. “You know, you and Boudicca give me hope.” Cystennin admits one afternoon while we’re in the middle of a game of chess. “Really? Why?”

“Love is a tricky thing. It makes us question who we are. Makes us change who we are, too. Sometimes for the better. If my bookish little sister can be happy and change, then it gives me hope that maybe I can find happiness like that, too.”

“You and Gwynfor seem to be relatively happy. What makes you so worried?” I move my knight while he comes up with a reply. “It’s not that I’m worried. When we found out about our bond, we knew that there was probably no chance we could ever truly be together. That night was both the best and worst of my life. Tell me, what does it feel like when you’re not close to Boudicca?” I’m a little hesitant to tell him the truth, for fear it would make me look needy, but I do anyway. “It’s just shy of being painful. Like hooks are pulling me back towards her.”

“That’s what I thought. Now take that and amplify it by twenty.  _ That’s  _ how it felt not being close to my mate for two years. Check.” I think things over as I move my king out of his rook’s path. He’s older than me by three years. He made his kill six years ago. I have to ask. “Cystennin, why were you in the forest the night that Gwynfor was supposed to make his kill?” He sighs, pushing his hair back with his free hand. “You deserve the truth, little sister. I was trying to run away. Selfish bastard that I am, I didn't even think about taking you with me. It was probably for the better. I was found and dragged back a week later. You never wondered where this came from?”

He pulls down the collar of his shirt, showing me the burn scars that cover half his neck. “My reward for trying to escape that hellhole. I got shoved face-first into the fireplace in his office. They healed my face, but my neck was left as a reminder of what I did.”

“You could have told me.” I’m hurt that he didn’t trust me enough to share this. “I could have, but to what avail? You couldn’t have stopped Urien from putting my face up against the coals. Some things are better kept to oneself. Check.”

“Do you trust me, Cystennin?” I ask, sliding my queen towards his knight and taking it off the board. “Basically. Why?” What I’m about to ask him to help me do is more risky than anything I’ve ever done before, but it’s the only way I can keep Boudicca safe. “I need you to help me kill Urien.” Silence. Maybe I made a mistake asking him--“What’s your plan?” His readiness takes me aback. “That’s it? No questions?” He smirks, one iris shifting from blue to white, something he only does when he’s ready to think. “I’ve wanted to kill that man for nineteen years. Forgive me if I seem a little eager. I presume you’re thinking of using the tunnel to break in, but then what?”

“Have you ever heard of the Challenge of Kings?” He frowns, thinking it over. “Can’t say that I have. What does it entail? Check.” I swear softly under my breath, using a pawn to take away the offending bishop. “Essentially, if someone with a claim to the throne believes the current monarch is unfit for the job, they can invoke the Challenge of Kings. A fight to the death, no magic allowed. Just the king, the challenger, and a pair of iron swords.” At first, Cystennin’s silent. Then he starts to laugh. “You expect me to challenge him and walk out alive? You’re mad.”

“You can’t use magic during the fight.” I reply quietly. “But I can.”

“I’m sorry, little sister, but I don’t want to kill him through cheating. If I kill him, I want it to be without anyone helping me. No offence. So I propose another plan. We use the tunnel. I cut his throat open while he sleeps. You kill the others.” Horror sinks in as I realise he wants me to kill our brothers. “But if Urien’s dead-”

“You really think they’ll surrender? No. They’ll do whatever they can to kill us, or hurt us where we would feel it the most. Do you want to put your mate in danger? Checkmate.” He topples my king with a pawn and looks at me with his multicolored eyes. “A word that means  _ the king is dead _ . The only question is  _ how _ .”

“I could always just formally declare war.” Boudicca’s voice comes from behind me. I turn to see her sitting on the arm of my favourite chair, looking very much like a ghost in the dim light. “Wait a minute. War has never formally been declared?” Cystennin spits, fire boiling in his words. “Then why the hell have our kinds been like this for centuries?”

“The island was divided, animosity grew, and, yes, the rite of passage became a thing, but war was never actually declared after the first blood was spilled. Would it be smart to declare war? Perhaps. But we have a hidden ace.”

“Boudicca, what are you talking about?” She holds up a finger, as if to say,  _ Hold on _ , and shifts her gaze to Cystennin. “How much does she look like your mother?” I never thought about it before, but she’s right. My coloring isn’t typical of a Darkstar. My hair isn’t black or blonde, I’m not absurdly pale, and my eyes are brown, not blue. “Quite a bit. What are you playing at?"

“Something you said a while back. Urien’s soft for you, Aisling, because you remind him of his dead wife.” At first, I’m horrified. “Boudicca, he  _ killed  _ our mother.” Then it hits me. After he cut my mother’s throat, he began to cry--the only time I’ve ever seen him do such a thing. Some part of him must have loved her. “You want to use the fact that I look like her to dupe him.”

“Correct. Tell me, what does Darkstar propaganda say about me?”

“That you bewitch men into your bed before you kill them and drink their blood.” Cystennin responds. When he sees me staring, he shrugs. “What? Some of it is entertaining. And definitely not true.” An idea sparks in my brain. “But we can use it to our advantage. If I turn up on the Darkstar side of the forest, covered in blood and traumatized-"

“No.” The single word is cold and slices through me like a blade. “I’m not having you risk your life.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing this isn’t your decision to make, Boudicca! This is the only feasible way we can get rid of him for good. Would you rather have me risk being dead or have my brothers come and kill you?” My voice has raised, but at this point I don’t care. I  _ need  _ to do this, and she’s in my way. “I am not going to send you into the lion’s den. You won’t survive. You’re a terrible liar."

“She’s right about that.”

“Shut up, Cystennin!” We both yell, then continue to argue. “I won’t let you do this.”

“Despite what you may think, Boudicca, you don’t own me. We’re mates, and that means we’re equal in one way or another.” That was the wrong thing to say. “It means that if you die, part of me dies, too! Did you not think about that?! Do you not give a damn about me?” I want nothing more than to tell her that I love her and that she’s my world, but my pride takes over, drowning out the rest of my emotions. “If you wanted a pushover, you should have found someone else to play your games.” Her face falls. “So you don’t care about me anymore?”

“Boudicca, that’s not what I meant-”

“It sure as fuck sounded like it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go find a  _ pushover _ who will do what I say.” She storms out, her anger leaving its mark on me. How can I be such a moron? “Well, looks like you’ve dug yourself a pretty big hole.”

“Fuck off.” I snap at him, pissed that he even saw that. “It’s not like you have any say in this, either.” Before I know it, my back is against the wall and Cystennin’s arm is at my throat.  _ “I am not losing you to that man.”  _ He snarls, his teeth looking oddly pointed and sharp in the light.  _ “We have both lost too much.” _ I start to choke; he’s cutting off my air. “Can’t...breathe…” I manage to eke out, and he lets me go. “You’ll apologise to Boudicca. You’ll do what she says, or else we’ll all be dead.”

“Is that a threat?” I ask, rubbing my throat. I’ll probably have a bruise by tomorrow. He scoffs, but it sounds more like a twisted laugh. “You’ll  _ know  _ when I threaten you. Go before you get executed. Maybe you’ll get lucky.” His logic is messed up, but so is this situation. I spend two hours looking for Boudicca, but each effort proves useless. “She’s in her studio, if you must know where she is.” I glance up from burying my head in my hands to see Gwynfor standing over me, pity etched on his face. “I don’t know where that is.” He sighs, motioning for me to follow him. “That’s because it’s well-hidden. Boudicca doesn’t want many people to know she dances outside of balls.”

“Is she afraid of being complimented?”

“Not exactly. You know how private she can be. Being queen has taken its toll on her, and she guards whatever privacy she can get. That being said, I think you count as an exception.”

“How mad is she at me?”

“Wrong question to ask. You  _ should  _ be asking, ‘Will she forgive me?’ To which I’d answer, not likely. Not unless you turn up with a kitten and ginger cakes.” The latter is easier to acquire than the former, but at least it’s a plan. “She’ll be in there.” We’ve stopped outside a door that I wouldn’t have otherwise noticed unless he pointed it out. “Whatever you do, don’t tell her I helped you, or she’ll kill us both.” With that, he disappears into thin air, and I’m left alone. There’s only one thing to do now: go into that studio and hope my mate won’t incinerate me the moment I step inside. I open the door before I lose my courage and am met with a literal wall of glass.

It takes me a second to realize it’s a mirror, Boudicca’s form reflected in it as she dances. If I thought she was graceful at the Solstice ball, it pales in comparison to what I’m watching now. The way she moves with the music makes me want to dance with her, but I hold back. This is her personal space, and I’m already encroaching on it. “Come to beg forgiveness?” I didn’t notice that the music had stopped until she speaks. “I care about you, Boudicca. More than you’ll ever know. I know you want to protect me, but I can take care of myself. I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“You had a good plan, I’ll admit. I just wished you had listened to me. I’m sorry for acting the way I did.” I take a step closer to her before she shrieks. “What?”

“You’re wearing  _ normal shoes _ in my studio?! Aisling Rathnait Chayka-” I quickly kick them off and place them outside the door. “Sorry! I didn’t know. You dance beautifully.” I add as a bit of an afterthought. She turns slightly pink, looking down at her feet, which, I notice, are encased in a pair of odd satin shoes. “They let me go on the tips of my toes.” She answers my unspoken question. Probably caught me staring.

“Do you really need to be even taller than me?” She rolls her eyes, but something about her body language makes me think she’s no longer angry at me. “Come here. I need a support.” She turns my palms up so they’re facing the ceiling, then puts her arms on top of mine, gripping them lightly. “Don’t make me fall.” The pressure increases as she lifts a leg behind her and goes on her toes. She’s light, but the amount of pressure takes its toll after a minute or so. I glance in the mirror and smile softly. Gods, she’s beautiful. To hold her like this...it’s all I want. “Would you stab me if I kissed you now?”

“I don’t have my blades on me.” Her lips find their way to mine, warming me like a fire. “Don’t your feet hurt?” I ask; she’s been on her toes for at least five minutes, but she comes down soon after, her arms settling around my waist. “Not much. I think you took some of my pain away, my dear mate.”

“That’s what I’m here for _. _ ” She grins. “Your emotiveness is one of the reasons why I love you.” The door opens and Gaenor steps in, her normally blank face painted in an emotion that’s rare in the Weaver court: panic. “We have a problem, my queen.” I notice the envelope in her left hand, or, rather, I notice its colour. Pitch black. My heart starts to beat so fast I feel like it’s going to burst out of my chest as Boudicca takes the envelope from Gaenor and opens it, reading the message inside. Her sharp breath at the contents makes me even more nervous, and when she holds it out to me I feel faint. I manage to take the letter from her and read it. It’s a simple note, written on stark-white paper in spiky, horribly familiar handwriting, ink the colour of--or perhaps it  _ is-- _ blood.

_ You took one child away from me. That, I could forgive. _

_ But two? Prepare for war, Weaver Queen. _

- _ King Urien Gylden _


	11. Boudicca

“Urien has formally declared war on us. Well, technically, on me.”

“A declaration of war on you is a declaration of war on all of us, my queen. The only question is what to do about it. We know where the tunnel is. We have access to it. Why not just kill the bastard in his sleep before any of our people have to die?” I exchange a glance with Aisling at Caitríona’s words. “We’ve thought about that. It’s not worth the risk. Besides, when Urien dies, we want him to know it was us.”

“So this is a revenge mission, eh?” Pryderi looks up from the blade he’s polishing, a smirk on his mouth. My weapons master has never been one for strategy, but he understands revenge better than any of us. His brother was killed at a young age; Pryderi made himself a broadsword, tracked down the assassin, and cut his head off. Three years have passed since then, and although he’s the youngest member of my Court, he’s invaluable. He forged my swords and Gwynfor’s daggers, inlaid Niamh’s whip with strips of tungsten. Weapons are only as good as the people who wield them, however--which is why every blade or weapon Pryderi makes has the user’s blood mixed into the metal. “Basically. Whoever wants a stab gets one.”

“What about your brothers?” Niamh questions, nodding to Cystennin and Aisling. “We’ve established they aren’t going to join us. If they get in our way when we break into the castle, we’ll have no choice but to take them out. Knowing them, they will. Honestly? I don’t care either way.” Cystennin’s indifference towards his brothers makes me sad, in a way. I’d never feel the same way towards Gwynfor...but then again, our parents didn’t beat either of us. Nor was our father a madman. Would I feel the same if I had gone through what my mate and her brother had, though? I shake the thought off and return my focus to the images of the tunnel cover that are before me. It looks similar enough to my own, save for the design etched into it: a tree, blood dripping from the leaves. “Who’s the stronger mage of the two of you?”

“She is.” Cystennin replies, jerking a thumb towards Aisling. “All those books must have been good for something.” The compliment makes her blush slightly, but she doesn’t deny it. “He’s right. I’ve been better at spells than him in the past.”

“And now. You’ll have to open the cover and disable the anti-Weaver wards to let us in. Then we can end this war for good.” I sigh, leaning forward on the table. “In two days, Aisling and I will head for the border to steal the Darkstar crown. If we don’t come back-”

“You  _ will _ .” Gwynfor replies, his grip tightening on his dagger. “If we don’t come back, give them hell for us.” I continue, fighting back uneasiness and tears. “You’d be a good king.”

“If you do your job, I won’t have to find out.” My brother has always been protective of me, but he’d rather stay in the shadows than rule. He’s never wanted a throne. Having me go into enemy territory must be killing him. “Meeting adjourned. Pryderi, stick around for a bit, will you?” I take Aisling’s hand in mine. “You need a blade.”

“I have one.” Even so, she’s never used it since that night in the forest. “You don’t use it. I had Pryderi make you a new one.” He unwraps the leather to reveal a polished bronze dagger with a bone handle, runes running down the center of the blade. “I just need some of your blood to finish it.”

“I’m sorry,  _ what _ ?!” Pryderi laughs at her shock. “Don’t worry. It’s not for anything nefarious. Everything I forge has the owner’s blood mixed with the metal. It makes for a stronger weapon, and can give the weapon certain abilities.”

“Can you choose what abilities the blade gets?” Pryderi shakes his head, almost regretfully. “No. It’s more of a game of chance than anything else. You can charm the blade after it’s done, but there’s nothing permanent. Were you hoping for anything in particular?”

“Something that would make me always hit my mark. Even if I were hesitant.”

“Well, the runes should help with that. I still need your blood, though.” I squeeze her free hand as Pryderi draws a vial of blood from her arm. Her answering grip is so strong it feels like she’s going to crush the bones in my hand. “I’ll have it done by tomorrow. Good luck.”

“Thank you.” We both murmur as he rewraps the dagger and leaves. Aisling turns to me, a curious expression on her face. “What do the runes on the blade say?” I smile softly. “ _ May you always find your way with me. _ It was supposed to be a mating present.”

“Now I feel bad because I didn’t get  _ you  _ anything.”

“If we make it back alive, I expect a herd of kittens within the hour.” She laughs and kisses me on the nose. “As you wish. Any specific kind?”

“At least three black ones. Oh, and a calico to keep them in line.” Her smile warms me, but not for long. “Do you think we’ll succeed?” I can’t help but ask. Surprisingly, she’s confident. “With you by my side, I think anything is possible. You’re strong, Boudicca, even if you may not feel like it. You make me strong, too. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You’d be even more hopeless. I need you to trust me on this quest, though. If anything happens to me, I need you to promise you’ll take care of Gwynfor for me.” She stops smiling and holds up her palm, the scar from the blood oath almost cutting the skin in half. “I took this oath to you for one reason: so I could keep you safe. Nothing will stop me from doing that. Even if it kills me. If you die, I will die, too.”

“Where did all your hope go, Aisling?” I ask softly, reaching out for her. She wraps me in her arms before she replies, tears muffling her words. “I’m holding her in my arms right now.” Those words are all it takes to make me start crying, and it’s not long before we’re sobbing into each other’s shoulders. “You’ve made me too soft."

“That’s not true. You’re only soft for me. You’re still a warrior queen, whether or not I’m with you. But I do like seeing this softer side of you. It reminds me of what we’ve gone through together. All I want in life is to be with you, as a team, and make you feel safe.” I wipe the last tear off of my cheek and fully face her. “You always make me feel safe. My sweet, soft mate. I’m curious. What did you think of me when we first met?”

“Honestly? I thought you were a terrifying, beautiful demon that was going to kill me the moment you got the chance. Why do you ask?”

“Well, they say you never get a second chance to make a first impression, so I guess I screwed up.” She laughs softly. “Nonsense. We’re mates, we’re in love...what more could you ask for? I’m curious. What did  _ you  _ think of  _ me _ when we first met?”

“I thought you were a weak, spoiled princess who couldn’t kill me even if the blade was already against my neck. Turns out I was right on one count.”

“I would never hurt you. To think of killing you would go against all I am. You are a part of me, just as I am a part of you. If someone took you away from me, I would burn the world to find you.”

“If someone tried to take me away from you, they’d be dead before they could get me out of the city.” I retort. “I meant to ask. Do the people of the Rus truly ink their oaths on their bodies?”

“Yes. Why?” She replies, brows furrowed in confusion. “Did you have something in mind?” I nod, and let her know. “When we get married, I want us to ink our oaths to each other. To keep it personal.”

“I like that. It’s fitting, in a way. It’ll hurt, but our love is the kind that found its pleasure after pain. You’ll stay by my side, no matter what, when we go north, right?” I scoff, but there’s no harshness in it--if anything, I’m miffed she asked. “Of course. I’d never leave you, Aisling, no matter how annoying you might be at times.” She scoffs back before giving me a quick peck on the cheek, then another on my lips. “Am I being annoying  _ now _ ?”

“No, you’re being awfully wanton, if you must know my opinion. Keep this up and they’ll start to think you’re a courtesan.” The kisses stop and she takes a small box out of her pocket. “Is that what I think it is?” Inside is a dark silver ring with a deep purple stone in the middle, surrounded by small diamonds. “It’s not an engagement ring. It’s an oath--a more temporary one.”

“Where’s your half of the oath?” I demand. In response, she holds up her left hand, a matching ring I hadn’t noticed before sparkling on her ring finger. “Ah. The oath you speak of--is it one of fidelity?”

“How did you guess, my wickedly smart mate?” She laughs as she slides the ring onto my finger. It’s a perfect fit, like she is with me. “You remembered my favourite colour. I’m touched.” I receive another kiss. “Of course I did. I know all the important things. Like the fact that your birthday is in three weeks.” I groan as we walk out of the war room and back to our quarters. It’s late, and we need all the rest we can get before we leave. “Nooo! I don’t want you to do anything for my birthday, and I know you’re going to make some stupidly grand gesture.”

“Actually, I was going to bake you a cake and let you eat it all. Maybe give you a sword.”

“Mmm. Good answer. Come here, you.” She lets me pull her into bed so we’re lying side-by-side. “Will you sing to me?” I need to sleep, and her voice is the only thing that will make me do just that. “Of course.” Her Ruski song, combined with her gentle touch, makes me fall asleep in no time. The next morning, I awake to a tray laden with breakfast and Aisling sitting beside me, fully dressed. “Good morning.”

“Is that for me?” I ask as a reply, blinking at the sunlight coming in through the windows. “Well, I certainly can’t eat all this myself.” I snag a piece of bacon off the tray and sit up, chewing quickly and pulling a shirt over my head simultaneously. “This came while you were sleeping. I thought you might want to look at it with me.” I know straight away that the box in her hands contains her new blade because Pryderi’s seal is on the lid. “Well? Open it.” She cracks the lid open to reveal the dagger, the runes standing out against the metal of the blade. “It feels perfect. How did Pryderi know to make it this way?"

“It’s his gift. All of us have something we’re exceptionally good at. He’s able to match a weapon to its owner without a single test.” The handle of the blade fits perfectly in her grip, as I knew it would. “Thank you, Boudicca. This means a lot to me.”

“What does? The fact that I gave you a new knife as a mating present, or that we’re going into enemy territory to steal the biggest source of Darkstar power there is?” I’ve gotten out of bed to get dressed, but I can still hear her as she replies. “Both. You’re doing this with me. It’s almost like an adventure.”

“Except most adventures don’t have a death risk. This one, however, does.” She’s suddenly behind me, her arms wrapped around my waist. “If we die, at least we’ll die together.”

“If we have to die, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now, may I get dressed?” I manage to put on my clothes and boots before she can get her hands on me again. “You really love holding me, don’t you?”

“You smell nice. Like vanilla and nutmeg. Reminds me of a bakery.”

“Don’t try to eat me.” I murmur, and she laughs, nipping at my earlobe. “I’ll try not to. But you make it hard. Standing here, looking so beautiful…we only have so much time before we have to leave.” The main door opens, Gwynfor coming into the room. “Hope I didn’t catch you in the middle of something.” He looks us over and smirks. “Perhaps I did. Anyway. Another raven has come from Armagh. It’s not from Urien.” He adds upon seeing Aisling’s worried face. “It’s from your brother, Treasach.” The envelope he holds out isn’t black, but dark green, the wax seal white. Aisling takes it, opens it, and quickly reads the letter inside it. “Trap.” The single word makes me blink. “What does it say?” She sighs and begins to read it aloud.

_ “To my sister. Return home now and all will be forgiven. Father misses you, as do I and Nioclás. Think of what our mother would have wanted.” _ She huffs, the noise making her sound more like a chimney than annoyed. “It’s signed, ‘Crown Prince Treasach Gylden of Armagh’. So I’m redeemable, but Cystennin is already considered to be dead.”

“I thought Treasach and Nioclás were twins.” A nod. “They are. However, much like you two, Treasach was born earlier, so he’s always been ahead of Nioclás in the line of succession. It’s an empty offer. They’d still torture and kill me if I tried to return out in the open.” She throws the letter and envelope into the fireplace, where they’re quickly consumed by the flames, becoming ash. “Empty words are all I’ll get from any of them. We need to prepare for tomorrow.” I grab a pastry from the tray before we leave and eat it as we walk down to the armoury. Gaenor and Pryderi are already waiting for us there, the former examining a two-handed sword. “How are you liking the new blade?”

“It’s a beautiful piece. Thank you.” Pryderi smirks, tossing me a bow. “Test it out for me, will you?” I bend the bow, string it, and nock an arrow, letting it fly. It goes into one of the eye sockets of one of the many suits of armour lining the walls. “Perfect shot.” I leave the arrow where it is and sling the bow over my shoulder. “Got any more new toys for me?”

“Not unless you’ve suddenly started using grenades.” Even so, I pick one up. “What kind? Smoke? Flash-bang? Both?”

“Iron.” He replies, looking disappointed I didn’t guess correctly. “Use one and every Darkstar within two klicks will be unable to use their magic for half an hour.” Aisling glances up at that. “Those could be useful.”

“I know what you’re thinking. It would affect you, too. We wouldn’t be able to make a clean escape.” I put the grenade down and shift my attention to Gaenor. “Where’s the map?” The map in question is on the next table over, weighed down with geodes. “So, it’s a day’s journey with magic, two without. Not bad.”

“Why wouldn’t you be using--ah. I understand.” Aisling looks confused at Gaenor’s words, so she explains further. “It would be easy for anyone who wanted to find you to track you through your magic’s signature. Since this is a covert operation, magic should be used sparingly. It would probably be best to only use a spell to get yourselves back home.”

“So we’ll get there in three days or so. What day is it today?”

“Monday. Why?” Aisling swears under her breath. “Alleged traitors are executed on the third Thursday of every month. Today is the third Monday.” I look at her, curious. “What does that mean for us?”

“It means Urien will be wearing the crown when we get there. It won’t come off his head until late at night, and then it’s locked in his vault. It doesn’t take blood like yours does,” she adds hastily upon seeing my raised eyebrows. “It’s a coded lock. Three riddles, and they change daily.”

“So we’d either need to intercept it before it gets to the vault-”

“Or get there early, and manage to figure out the riddles on our own. These aren’t great odds, but, then again, when have they ever been?”


	12. Aisling

“Do you have any advice for me?” I finish packing up my rucksack and look up at Cystennin, who’s been pacing by the window for the past ten minutes. “Don’t die.”

“That’s not very helpful.” He sighs, concern evident on his face. “I know, but I don’t know what else to tell you. These are uncharted waters for both of us. I’m just glad Boudicca will be there with you. I trust her to keep you safe.”

“I’m not a child anymore, Cystennin. I can take care of myself. Besides, I’m doing this for you. So you can have the crown and start a rebellion. You’re the only one I trust to be a good king.” I see him smirking and worry slightly, even as he responds. “Even compared to you?”

“I have no claim to the throne anymore, remember? I never wanted to be queen, anyway. The only reason I’ve stayed in the royal life is-”

“Boudicca. I understand. You would do anything for your mate, as I would for mine. Whatever happens up north, I want you to remember one thing.” I’m about to crack a joke-- _ just the one? _ \--but something in his tone stops me. “What?”

“Don’t let him win. Even if he has a sword against Boudicca’s throat and is threatening to kill her.”

“If he kills me, Cystennin, we’ve already lost.” Boudicca is already dressed for travelling, her boots making no noise on the marble floor as she crosses the room to stand at my side. “Same if she dies. Either we both make it out alive or not at all.”

“You may want to change that hair of yours, then.” I hadn’t noticed that Boudicca was wearing a headscarf until she takes it off to reveal her hair is no longer silver, but a shade of brown that’s quite similar to my own. “Already taken care of. It’ll wash out in a week.”

“You almost don’t look like yourself.” She’s still beautiful, but there’s something off about seeing her with dark hair. Like one of those ‘one of these things is not like the others’ puzzles. It’s barely been a minute and I already miss my silver queen. “We’ll see you in a week. Maybe less. Whatever happens, take care of my brother for me.”

“Take care of my sister.” The moment Cystennin is out of sight, I kiss Boudicca hard. For all I know, this may be the last truly private moment I have with her. “I know what you’re thinking. We’re going to win this fight, Aisling.”

“Why are you so sure of that?” She draws back slightly so she can look me in the eye. “I’ve got you with me. We’re a good team. The warrior and the scholar, saving society one heist at a time. Maybe they’ll write poems about us when we’re no longer here.” I brush a lock of brown hair away from her face and kiss her again. “Maybe we’ll get to read some of them ourselves. You ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” She opens a portal to the forest and laces her fingers with mine. “Let’s go steal a crown.” We step through, the portal closing behind us a moment after, and take in the area. “North, right?”

“North. Pryderi gave me a compass to help. It’ll get hotter as we get closer to the tunnel.” She pulls the device out from one of her pockets and checks the needle. “We’re going the right way.”

“Remind me why we couldn’t just portal  _ right  _ to the tunnel?” I know I shouldn’t have forgotten, but I’ve had so much on my mind recently. “Because if we did, the signature from my magic would alert anyone keeping tabs on the area in an instant. Besides, this isn’t much of a trip. We’ll be there soon. Even though you’re still a few paces behind me.” I try to keep up with her, but her legs are longer than mine and she moves faster than me. When I tell her just that, she has the audacity to laugh.  _ “Boudicca _ ! Please slow down a little, for my sake. It’s not my fault I’m shorter than you.”

“Are you sure about that? Those sorts of things tend to be based on genes.”

“In that case, it would be the fault of my parents, not me. Were  _ your  _ parents unnecessarily tall?” She’s silent, and I scramble to apologize. “Boudicca, I’m sorry-”

“It’s fine, Aisling. If anything, I’m dishonoring them by  _ not  _ talking about them. Yes, my parents were taller than both you and I. My mother was taller than my father, though. He never minded, but he teased her sometimes about it. She’d pretend to sulk, but would laugh about it later. Their match was strange--political, yes, but they actually loved each other.”

“I wasn’t aware it was a political match. Who was the foreigner?” I assume that one of her parents was from a mainland nation, rather than a Weaver themselves. “If we want to be technical about it, neither one. My father was born to Weaver parents in Vaduz. They were higher-ups in the government, my father tapped to take  _ his  _ father’s place on the council, when my mother, the Weaver crown princess, came to the mainland to sign a trade agreement, saw my father, and fell in love. The rest, to say the least, is history.” I can’t help but smile at the story; it makes me feel warm inside. “What’s on your mind, Aisling?”

“Your story about your parents makes me feel...warm. Almost gooey inside.” I hear her snicker, even though it’s quiet. “Are you a woman or a marshmallow? Jokes aside, though, I’m glad. So much of the time, the only memories I get to share of my parents are the ones about their deaths.”

“I’m sorry.” I murmur, but she brushes off my apology. “You didn’t give the order to kill them.” After that, we walk in silence for the next few hours until we stop to make camp for the night. “Have you ever been camping before?”

“No. Is this what it’s like? Shivering in a cursed forest?” Her laughter warms me more than the fire. “Not quite. Usually, it involves a campfire, roasting food over said fire, and telling ghost stories. Maybe some illicit activity.” I duck my head so she can’t see me blush. “Sounds interesting, to say the least. Is it a common thing to do?”

“For a weekend away, it is. We don’t come to the cursed forests, though. There are some uncursed ones in the south of the country.” Her eyes flicker up to meet mine. “Maybe after the war is over we can have a weekend trip.” I smile, accepting the food she hands me. “I’d like that.” I can tell it makes her happy to hear that; her answering smile is all the indication I need. The yawn she lets out after she’s finished eating lets me know she needs to sleep, so I offer to take first watch. “You can use me as a pillow, if you want.”

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer.” She lies down and puts her head on my legs, smiling up at me. “Sleep well _. _ ” She doesn’t respond; somehow, she’s already out cold. “My beautiful queen.” I murmur, one hand stroking her hair, the other holding on to my dagger. I have my priorities in order. Protecting Boudicca is what I’ve always been meant to do, but that doesn’t mean I can’t show affection for her while doing it. Despite having nothing to do, time flies by, and before I know it Boudicca is stretching her arms above her head and sitting up. “My turn to take watch. You can use me as a pillow, if you want.” I laugh at her parroting my earlier words back to me. “That sounds good to me.” At first, I lie down so my head is on her legs, but she  _ tsks  _ and pulls me closer so I’m practically on top of her. “ _ Much  _ better.”

“I’m not crushing you, am I?” A snicker. “Hardly. You’re an excellent heat source. Go to sleep, softie. I’ll be here in the morning.” It’s cold, but she’s warm, and I soon fall asleep, a dream quickly coming to me. I’m standing on a beach, sand squishing beneath my toes, the waves lapping gently at the shore. It’s calming, but something is off.

_ Where’s Boudicca? _

I call her name as I walk along the shore, but it’s to no avail, until I see her standing by the water. She isn’t alone, though; there are two children with her, a boy and a girl. A lump forms in my throat, because this feels so wrong but so right at the same time.

_ “Mama!”  _ the little boy cries as he runs to me.  _ How is this possible? _ It’s only when I get a good look at him that I realise he doesn’t look like me or Boudicca. We’ve adopted these children, but it doesn’t matter. They’re still my own. _ “Alia, don’t run your mother over!” _ Alia. He’s named after my mother.  _ “You heard your mother.” _ I find myself saying, picking Alia up and swinging him around, giggles ensuing.  _ “If you run me over, there won’t be any marshmallows over the fire for you tonight.” _

_ “Khalida does it all the time and she still gets marshmallows! Why am I different?” _

_ “Do not!”  _ The little girl-- _ Khalida _ \--shouts, scowling. Boudicca laughs as she walks towards me and Alia.  _ “You both have a tendency to run us over. But you, my little prince, do it far more often than your big sister.” _ Her hand finds mine, the familiar weight the only thing that I can recognise. She still looks as young as I know her to be, but there’s a certain wisdom in her eyes that’s new.  _ “What’s wrong?”  _ Even in my dreams, she can read me like a book.  _ “Wake up, Aisling!” _ Her voice becomes louder, and I’m pulled out of my dream by the  _ real  _ Boudicca shaking me awake. “We have to run.” She’s panicking, more so than I’ve ever seen, so I force myself completely awake and get to my feet. “They’ve found us, and we’re still nowhere close to the tunnel.” A distant noise makes my heart stop. Hoofbeats. “Oh, no.” I murmur. “I’ll get us out of here.”

“We can’t use magic-” She begins to protest, but I cut her off. “They’re looking for Weaver magic. Not Darkstar magic. I’m still a Darkstar.”

“Do it.” I grab her hand and begin the spell under my breath, the sound of the horses’ hooves growing louder with every passing second. “Aisling, what are you waiting for?!” As soon as I speak the last word of the spell, our surroundings shift and change. There’s no noise save for the sound of rustling leaves. “Teleportation spells always take a bit longer than I’d like. We’re safe, for now.” My foot hits something as I pace. Something metal. “Boudicca, I think I found it.” She quickly bends down and brushes a layer of dead leaves away, hissing when her fingers touch the metal. “It’s copper. It burned me.”

“Hold on.” I press my own hands to the tunnel cover and cast a spell of neutralization--one that I hope will prevent the wards from doing any more harm to my mate. “Okay. I think we’re good to go.”

“Are you ready for what’s at the end of the tunnel?” I bite my lip, not sure if I can honestly answer her question without breaking down. “I don’t know. But at least you’ll be there with me.” I open the cover and gesture for her to go first. “See you down there.” I wait for her to climb down, then join her, landing with a soft  _ thud  _ on the bricks below. “We’re ahead of schedule, but I can’t seem to see anything.”

“Sorry.” I quickly light a torch and pass it to her, then light another one for myself. “How did they know where we were?” She murmurs as we start walking through the tunnel, our footsteps echoing all around us thanks to the stone walls. I think about it for a while, the answer finally coming to mind. “Me.” I respond glumly. “Urien practises blood magic. He must have used a tracking spell on me. I never should have come with you.”

“This is  _ not  _ your fault, Aisling.” Her anger is barely contained. “If anything, this gives me more motivation to steal the crown. I wish I could see the look on that bastard’s face when he realises his crown is gone.” I laugh. “So do I. We’ll just have to settle for ending a centuries-long war.” We’re soon faced with a portal, which glows green instead of blue like the Weaver one. “Let’s go steal ourselves a crown.” We step through the portal and end up in the library. Not what I expected; for some reason, I thought the portal would have brought us somewhere more public. “Welcome to the north.”

“It’s cold.” We’re in the highest stacks, which have always been drafty, but it’s true. I can see my breath. “Do you want my jacket?”

“I’ll live. Where’s the vault?”  _ That’s  _ the problem. “Six floors below us. At this time, it’ll be quiet, but there are still guards. Now I really wish we had taken some of those grenades.”

“It wasn’t worth the risk. Can you get us down there?” I strain my ears for any noise; there is none. “I think so. Hold on to me.” She wraps her arms around me, squeezing tight, and I murmur the same teleportation spell I used earlier. It works, and we end up in front of the vault door, no guards in sight. Odd, but I’ll take whatever luck I can get at this point. “It’s already in there. Better get started on the riddles.” I turn my attention to the door, Boudicca standing guard, and look at the first riddle.  _ What is something that you cannot see or find when you need it the most? _

“Easy.” I mutter as I punch in the letters. “Time.” Something I don’t have enough of right now. “Next one.”  _ If you are given one of these, you truly receive two or more. _ “Boudicca, what multiplies after you’re given it?”

“Rabbits? Read me the riddle.” I recite it, and she shakes her head. “Not rabbits. A choice.” The door accepts the answer. There’s just one more riddle to solve. I’m not sure if I understand it.  _ I am the beginning of the end, and the end of a beginning. What am I?  _ At first, I think it’s a letter, but when I try to input the letter  _ e _ , it doesn’t work. I read it to Boudicca, who frowns, thinking it over. “I don’t know.”

“The answer,” a terribly familiar voice sneers, “is  _ death. _ ” I shove myself in front of Boudicca in a futile attempt to protect her as Treasach steps out of the shadows, a sadistic grin on his lips. “Something you will be begging for in no time.” He jerks his head and guards pour out from behind him, wrenching me and Boudicca apart. No matter how much I scream, they don’t care, pulling me away until I can’t see her. Even when I’m thrown into a cell in the dungeons, I can only worry about her.  _ My queen...my mate...my everything. _

_ I will do whatever it takes to get her back. _


	13. Boudicca

“You aren’t going to talk willingly. I understand that.” Aisling’s twisted brother says, sounding deceptively kind. I respond with the same placid tone as I try to undo the copper-laced ropes that bind my hands. “Good. We agree on something. You can let me go, then.” At that, he laughs, the corruption in him finally showing. “Oh, not a chance, _Weaver Queen._ Bring her in.” The door opens and two guards drag Aisling in, battered and bruised. She has a split lip, a black eye, and more bruises than I can count, plus a nasty slash across her side. If I could just get these ropes off, I would burn every single person in this room to ash for doing this to her. 

“Will you talk now? Either of you?” Aisling slowly raises her head to look up at Treasach, pure hate in her eyes. _“Rot in hell.”_ She snarls, and earns a punch to the gut, crying out at the force. “Not quite yet. I think I’ll put _you_ through hell first. Let’s see what your bitch of a queen really thinks of you.” The elder Darkstar snatches a vial filled with clear liquid off of the desk and uncorks it. I don’t have to sniff the contents to know what they are. 

Truth potion.

“Drink this, or I will break your jaw and pour it down your throat.” I bare my teeth at him, but drink the tasteless liquid willingly. I don’t need a potion to spill my true feelings about my mate. I can already feel the drug seeping through my system, doing its job. “Let’s start with an easy one. How did you get here?”

“There’s a tunnel. A portal in it leads to the library.” My lips are dry, to the point of cracking. There’s no point in asking for water. “Interesting. Now...do you love her?” He jerks his head towards Aisling, who’s staring at me with wide eyes. “Don’t keep me waiting.” He adds when I hesitate.

I have to answer, and begin to do so, a melody running through my head. “ _Love_ her? She’s the biggest pain in my ass in existence. Annoying, whiny, cries far too much about her dead mother. What am I forgetting? Ah, yes. She’s the worst fuck I’ve ever had.” With the last word, the ropes fall and I lunge for Treasach, my magic exploding out in a halo, burning the guards to ashes. I snatch the knife that’s on his belt and hold it aloft. “She is all of those things. But she is _mine,_ and I love her for everything she is.” I plunge the knife into his chest, twisting the blade to make sure he dies as quickly as possible. “Is all of that the truth?” I gasp and rush to Aisling’s side, healing her wounds and giving her some strength back. “Yes. To an extent.”

“What time is it?” _Right._ We still have a crown to steal.

“Just after five in the morning. We can make it to steal the crown. I’ll cast the spell.” She holds on to me and I murmur the spell under my breath, picturing the corridor and the metal door in my mind. It takes less than five seconds for us to teleport there. The door is still waiting for the third answer. “Death.” I type the word in, the door shaking before opening to reveal the treasures inside. “What does the crown look like?” I’ve forgotten what it looked like in my dreams, and even then, dreams can be deceiving. “Black metal, studded with obsidian. Heavy.” I scan the room, finally finding it, propped on a velvet pillow. “Got it. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Give me the crown and I’ll do it.” I place the crown on her head, the lights flickering almost right after I do. I look at her, noticing for the first time that her eyes have turned solid black. “Get us out of here, Aisling.” She pulls me close to her and murmurs, “That won’t be a problem at all.” In the wink of an eye, we’re back in Liscannor, in the war room, breathing heavily. “We did it.” A split second later, the door bursts open and Cystennin and Gwynfor rush in. They must have been waiting up for us, because neither one of them is wearing nightclothes and they’re extremely alert. “You got the crown.” Gwynfor breathes, eyes wide as he tackles me in a hug. “Your brother is dead, by the way.”

“She’s still got truth potion in her. It might take a while to exit her system.” Aisling mutters as she takes the crown off and sets it on the table, then moves to embrace her brother. “Which one is dead, and who killed him?”

“Treasach. I did.” I murmur as I extract myself from Gwynfor’s debilitating grip. “I need a bath. I’m covered in his blood.”

“Can you wait for five minutes, so we can confirm this crown is the real one?” Cystennin pokes it with a single finger, raising his eyebrows at the power. “Never mind. It’s the real deal. Go take your bath.” I tug Aisling along as I leave, wanting nothing more than to be with her. Once the tub’s full and I’m submerged up to my stomach, she slips in behind me and begins to wash the dirt, sweat, and blood from my body, pausing every so often to ask if I’m alright. “Aisling, if you ask me that one more time, I’ll drown you.” I warn after the fifth time. “I need to know. It isn’t every day that you kill someone, Boudicca.”

“I did it for you. Nearly everything I do is for you.” The damned truth potion is still in my system, and it’s doing more damage with every word I speak. “When’s the last time you did something for _yourself_? Buying things doesn’t count.” She adds before the chance to protest comes. “I can’t remember.” I finally admit. “Probably long before I became queen.”

“You need to take care of yourself before you take care of me.” She replies, finally putting the washcloth down and pulling me into her arms, the water in the tub sloshing at the change. “We both do. I feel like you’re less able to do so, though. You’re a queen. I’m just a humble scholar.”

“You’re my mate, too.” I whisper. “You’re more than you think you are. If you can melt the heart of the Weaver Queen, there has to be something that makes you special.” Her heartbeat races at my words, but she still sounds calm. “I melted your heart?”

“The last person I loved hurt me horribly. It made me cold. Two years later, you came along, and somehow you thawed me. Even though you’re sometimes a pain in my ass.”

“I thought I was the _biggest_ pain in your ass. At least, that’s what you said under the influence of truth potion. Unless you’re somehow immune?” When I don’t immediately reply, she turns my chin so I’m forced to look into her eyes. “Boudicca. Are you immune to truth potion?”

“No. Not entirely. I’m as susceptible to the truth-telling part as anyone else, but I’m able to think clearly. I made myself build up a small tolerance just in case something like what happened _did_ happen. It wasn’t pretty, but I’m glad it worked.”

“So am I. When do you want to go find ourselves a herd of kittens?” I laugh and get to my feet, pulling her up with me, and turn the overhead spray on. “In an hour. Or two.” Two hours, as it turns out, aren’t enough; we end up falling asleep once we’re dressed, and by the time we wake up, it’s early afternoon. “Can I braid your hair?” Aisling asks shyly as I try to rearrange my rumpled clothing. “Do you know _how_ to braid hair?” I retort as I button my overcoat. “I do. Not from experience, but from books. How hard can it be?”

“If you make my hair a rat’s nest, you’ll be sleeping in another bed for a week.” I warn, but sit down at my vanity table anyway, handing her my brush. The brush passes through my hair in slow, even strokes before she sets it down and begins to braid my hair, a slight tugging the only indication she’s doing the right thing. “How did I do?” I flick the braid over my shoulder, admiring her handiwork. “Good news. You get to sleep next to me tonight.” I get up, linking arms with her as we walk out of the room. “It looks beautiful, Aisling. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Boudicca _._ Now. I believe you said you wanted at least three black kittens and a calico to keep them in line.”

“I’m impressed you remembered.” She steals a kiss and laughs. “Of course I did. Every memory I have of you is precious to me, and my main goal is to make you happy. Let’s go find some kittens.” In a short while, we’re at the animal sanctuary, sitting in a veritable field of kittens. Some of them are so young that their eyes have yet to open, and stumble around, running into each other. One of the black kittens practically runs towards me and then headbutts my leg. It doesn’t cry out, but meows instead, and I pick it up, cooing. “Precious little thing. I think I’ll name you Aisling.”

“Hey, that’s not nice!” The human Aisling retorts. “Perhaps, but this one is just as stubborn as you.”

“Just the one? I thought you wanted three.” I lean against her, my head falling onto her shoulder. “Maybe start out with one and see what happens. Unless there’s one that’s caught your eye?” Just as I finish my sentence, the white kitten from earlier crawls back into her lap. “I think I got my answer. What’s her name?”

“Zima. You’re not seriously going to name yours after me, are you?” I sit up and look at the kitten in my lap, picking it up so I can see if it’s a boy or girl. “Well, it turns out mine is a girl, so there goes that idea. Any ideas?”

“What about Temna? That’s quite accurate for her.” The kitten purrs at her words. “I think she agrees. It’s funny how we ended up with kittens that are our opposites. Then again, you and I _are_ opposites. Dark and light."

“Swan and duck.” She murmurs. “But we belong together. Opposites attract and all that.” A few moments pass before she speaks again. “Boudicca, I had a dream a few nights ago. The thing is, it felt so _real._ Like it was a vision of the future.”

“What happened in this dream?” I ask tentatively, not knowing if it was good or bad. “We were together. And...we had adopted children. A boy and a girl.” Her dream reminds me so much of the one I had, when we were in the Darkstar throne room. Both of them felt real, but which one will come true? Will _both_ come true? “Do you think that it could happen?”

“Anything is possible. I believe in us. I know we’d be the best damn parents the world has seen. Maybe it’ll be a decade or two from now, but whenever it happens, if it does, we’d do a good job.” She kisses me softly, the one thing I need to make me happy. Well, that and something to eat. I haven’t eaten anything since last night. When I tell her this, she immediately gets up, Zima still in her arms. “Then let’s go home. I’ll make you something.”

“We _do_ have a team of cooks, you know.” I try to sound as if I’m protesting, but I like her fussing over me. “I know. I want to cook for you, though. Please?” She gives me her best puppy eyes, and when she does _that,_ I can’t say no. “ _Fine._ But you better not burn it.” An hour later, I’m sitting on a stool in the kitchens with two kittens in my lap, waiting for Aisling to finish cooking... _something_. She wouldn’t tell me what it was, but hopefully it’s good. “Trust me.” Is the first thing she says after sliding a bowl of poached eggs in tomato sauce in front of me. “I keep trying to.” I mutter, taking a bite. It’s surprisingly good; the combination of the two textures, along with the wealth of spices, has me cleaning the bowl in minutes. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

“Before you ask, no, this isn’t something I learned to make from my mother. I found a cookbook from the Sahara and thought I’d try to cook something out of it. I didn’t do too badly, I hope.”

“Not at all. What is this called, by the way, so I know what to yell at you for when I’m in one of my moods and want you to cook for me?” She retrieves the cookbook and looks at the page, furrowing her brow. “Shakshuka. I probably mispronounced that.”

“You can’t expect to know _every_ language there is. How many is it that you already speak?” She laughs a bit, all teeth. “Six or seven. I’d like to learn Saharan, though, but I’d have a hard time finding a teacher here.”

“Why would you want to spend all that _time_ learning a language when you can just cast a spell to instantly speak it perfectly?” Her disappointed face is all I need to know I’ve asked the wrong question. “It’s not just about the language, it’s about the culture you’re exposed to while learning the language, too. A spell can’t give you that.”

“Interesting you say that, considering you’ve never left the island.” She tilts her head in silent assent. “True. But I still feel some connection to the languages I know, even if I’ve never visited the places they come from. I want to one day--to go back to the Rus and find my mother’s people. To visit the Sahara.”

“Careful, darling _._ Keep this up and the Slane twins will think you’re trying to steal their jobs.” She laughs again, the sound like a bell. “Never. They scare me too much for me to even try. Maybe I _could_ do some diplomatic work once Urien is defeated. Unless there’s some law that prohibits the queen consort from having an active role in the government?”

“Hardly.” I reply, handing Zima to her, the kitten purring when she’s in her lap. “My father helped to make the trade agreement we have with Shqipëria today. He didn’t give up his work, _or_ his love for my mother. Something tells me you’ll be able to do the same.”

“I’d like that a lot, but I don’t want to be apart from you. _Ever._ ” I stop petting Temna for a moment. “I understand your devotion to me, Aisling, but you’re your own person.” She sighs. “I know I am. I just...I _love_ you too much. If I’m a diplomat, wouldn’t I have to go abroad?”

“Not necessarily.” I reply, an idea coming to mind. “I think I know what you can do without having to leave me. The diplomatic academy hasn’t been open for fifty years. Maybe it’s time to reopen it.” I give her a small smile. “Who better to train the next generation than a half-Ruski polyglot?”

“That...that would be amazing!” She stutters the first word, but her smile is all I need to know she’s excited about this. “I’ve always wanted to share my knowledge with others.”

“Nerd.” I fake-cough, but there’s no menace behind it. She’s _my_ nerd, and I love her for it. “Priss.” She replies, a smirk coming to her mouth. “Me, prissy? Now you’re asking for it.” I put Temna down and get off my stool, swinging my hips a bit as I walk around the table towards Aisling, who’s now looking rather nervous. “Boudicca…” She whispers my name like it’s a prayer as she gets up to meet me in the middle. “Yes, darling?”

“May I kiss you?” Her arms are already around my waist, but I reply anyways. “Of course you may.” Her lips are on mine a split second later, tasting like cinnamon with the barest hint of chocolate. And she says that _I_ smell like a bakery. “You really are the most insatiable being I know, Aisling Chayka.” A paw bats at my leg, followed by what sounds like yelling. I look down to see Temna and Zima, their little mouths open, screaming at us for attention. “I stand corrected. They’re worse.” She coos at the kittens and leans down to scratch them behind the ears. “No, they just wanted their parents. Didn’t you?” They’ve stopped screaming and are now purring in content. “They’re going to be so spoiled.”

“Almost as spoiled as you.” She manages to kiss me on the nose before I shove her lightly, laughing. “Don’t be so mean to me! I was being interrogated this morning, you know.”

“I was being beaten up and cut open. I think I had it worse.” I gingerly touch her side, which, although I healed it earlier, is still bandaged. She hisses in pain when I make contact. “I know. But we won the first battle.”

“That doesn’t mean we’ll win the entire war, though.” I glance down, then ask her something that’s been bothering me all day. “Aisling, why did your eyes turn black when you were wearing the crown?” She frowns. “They did?”

“Yes. It...it scared me. I thought that the crown’s power had taken over your mind.” She puts her hand on my arm reassuringly. “Not a chance. I’m stronger than I look. It amplified my power, hence the black eyes. They only do that when I’m using my magic at the maximum level. I’ve always hated it--that’s why I try not to use my magic that much. It makes me feel like a demon.”

“You’re no demon. Trust me on that.” I scoop Temna and Zima up. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” The question is asked even as she follows me out of the kitchens and back upstairs to the library, where I set the cats down and pat my pocket surreptitiously to make sure the little box is still there. “This isn’t really how I planned to ask you this, but what happened today made me want to do it while I still had the chance.”

“Boudicca-” I shut her up by getting down on one knee and cracking open the box that was in my pocket to reveal a simple silver ring set with blue diamonds. “Aisling Chayka, will you marry me and make me the happiest queen in this world?” Her jaw drops open in shock, but she quickly smiles, nearly laughing. “Yes! Yes, a thousand times yes!” I get up and kiss her hard, our bodies fitting together perfectly as the kiss deepens. “Can I put the ring on your finger now?” She holds out her hand and I slide it onto her ring finger. It looks so natural there, but she’s frowning. “Where’s your ring?”

“Ah.” I retrieve it from my other pocket and slip it on, then compare it to hers. Both are silver, but the jewel in mine is raised above the band. “A perfect match.”

“I didn’t expect you to be the one to propose. Then again, you’re the one who wears the metaphorical pants here, right?” Her dopey smile makes my heart melt, and I take her hand in mine, wanting to be connected to her. “We’re getting married.” I whisper. “We’re getting married.” She repeats. Behind us, someone clears their throat, and I turn to find Cystennin leaning against a shelf, eyebrows raised. “Congratulations, but we’ve got a problem. How the hell am I supposed to take the throne if Urien is still alive?”

“I may be able to help with that.” A voice comes from the shadows. A voice that I haven’t heard in years.


	14. Aisling

“Who’s there?” I’m immediately nervous, but Boudicca is the picture of calm. “Hello, Teuta.”  _ Teuta. There’s only one person with that name that Boudicca would know. _ A woman shorter than me steps out of the shadows. If her red armour didn’t give away who she was, her eyes, one black, one red, do. Queen Teuta Maliqi of Shqipëria. “How did you manage to get here?”

“Gwynfor and I keep in touch. He told me of your mission to steal the Darkstar crown a week ago. I got to your harbour this morning. I take it it was a success?” Her eyes flicker over me, taking in my still-healing split lip and bruised eye. “More or less, then. I came to formally offer my support for you in your war.”

“You’ve moved past our...unfortunate parting, I take it.” Teuta smirks. “Is that what you’re calling me throwing a vase at your head? Yes. I have. As have you, clearly. My feelings aside, I would rather have you win than the Mad King of the North.” I wince at the title, but it’s true enough. “Well, then. I should probably introduce you to the next Darkstar king. Cystennin, Teuta. Teuta, Cystennin. And before you propose a marriage alliance with  _ him _ , I should probably let you know that he and Gwynfor are mates.”

“You really don’t get much news from the mainland, do you? I found my mate last year. We’ve been married for three months now.” Boudicca dips her head, probably to hide the blush spreading across her face. “Congratulations. I’m happy for you. Let’s move this discussion somewhere more private, shall we?” Once the four of us are in the war room, Boudicca seems to relax. Maybe it’s because we’re not out in the open, or because I’m by her side, but whatever the reason, I’m glad. “So. How do we kill a king without killing a kingdom?”

“You tell them the truth.” I murmur, bracing my forearms against the table. “Armagh has been a police state for thirteen years, and there’s been no change. The official explanation was to catch our mother’s killer, but…” I trail off, not knowing if I should let the Shqip queen in on the secret. “Our father killed our mother.” Cystennin informs Teuta before I can. “Well, butter my ass and call me a slice of bread.” She finally says. “How’d you figure  _ that  _ out?"

“I saw him do it.” This time, I get to tell the story as it is. “I was eight, and wanted to show my mother a book I had found. Instead, I found my parents arguing about my mother wanting to go back to the Rus for a short visit--taking me with her. Before I knew it, my mother was lying dead on the ground, her throat slit. I ran before Urien could see me standing there.” I feel Boudicca’s hand slip into mine, a silent reassurance, squeezing it once before I continue. “I’ve been wanting to kill that man ever since.”

“And I’ve been wanting him dead since he started beating me whenever he felt like it.” The Shqip queen’s gaze shifts from me to Cystennin. “We have something in common, after all.”

“What do you mean?” A harsh laugh. “In my case, the abusive one was a mother who resented being sold off to my father as a political match. So she took it out on me and my sister. It took her smashing a plate over my sister’s head for me to decide enough was enough and kill her before either Janina or I ended up dead.” Her smile, although wicked, is sad as well. “Poison was too good of a death for her, but I had to make it look natural or else I would have been suspected.”

“You truly are creative. But how do we prove it? We’re both essentially in exile, and I doubt even Urien knows that  _ you  _ know what really happened. Unless...” Cystennin trails off, one of his irises turning white. My brother has a plan. “Ha. His abuse is about to bite him in the ass.”

“Mind explaining yourself further?”

“Urien loved to show off his family in public as a  _ shining  _ example. He would go off on how much he loved his children, and the public ate it up.” When I was too young to know better, I loved the attention I got from the crowds. Then I grew up far too fast. “It’s time for me to show the world my scars.” This is a big deal; he’s covered them up from the moment he began to get them. Already, the magic camouflaging his neck is fading away, the same happening to his hands. The scars give him a more hardened appearance, sure, but there’s something else in his expression. He no longer looks like the brother who’d sneak food out of the kitchens with me to fuel late-night chess matches. He looks like a king, one who would do anything for his people. 

Including patricide.

Then again, Urien has never been a real father to either of us. “If the people of Armagh know the truth about the kind of man their king is, they’ll want someone else to lead them.”

“It doesn’t hurt that you have the crown, either. There’s just one problem. We’re in Liscannor. The border will be guarded even more strictly now. All of us can’t get to Armagh.” All eyes in the room shift to me. “What?”

“As much as I hate it, you’re our best bet. A princess come back from the dead? A crowd always likes an underdog.”

“Not a princess.” I murmur, but she’s right. I have to do this. “Can you get me there?” Teuta winces at my question. “Unfortunately, Armagh has never signed any sort of diplomatic agreement with my country, or anyone else on the mainland, for that matter, besides the Rus. It would be suspicious if my ship were to turn up to a police state’s harbour. We’d probably be blown out of the water. So, the answer is no. Do you have any contacts in the Rus?”

“I’ve never been off of the island. Even if our mother’s family is still alive, there’s always a chance they wouldn’t accept me--or any of my kin. She died here, after all.”

“It’s not your fault, though.” Gwynfor steps into the room, coming to stand beside Cystennin, no surprise on his face when he sees Teuta--although, he  _ is  _ the reason she’s here. “Which is why I sent a letter to the Ruski empress a few months back.” My jaw drops. “Why would she care or even  _ know _ about our mother? She was just an ambassador-”

“No, she wasn’t.” Gwynfor interrupts. “Your mother was an ambassador, yes, but she was the empress’ daughter, too.” The room starts to spin at the revelation, and I faint into Boudicca’s waiting arms. When I come to, I’m tucked under the covers in bed, Boudicca sitting at my side, Cystennin standing slightly behind her. “How long have I been out?” I ask, my throat dry. I need water. There’s a glass on the nightstand, but I’m too far away to reach it. She gives it to me gently and I drink the whole glass before she replies. “About an hour and a half. I understand why you fainted.”

“How did Gwynfor find out about our mother?” I demand. Neither of them answers. “Really? The silent treatment?”

“We’re not giving you the silent treatment. We’re  _ thinking _ .” Cystennin snaps back.

“Wait a minute.” Boudicca disappears into thin air, coming back a minute later with a thick book in hand. “Here we go. A complete account of every royal family tree.” She flips open the book to a page covered in Ruski script. “Mind translating this for us?” I set the water down and pull the book towards me, glad for a challenge.  _ “The royal house of the Rus, from Ekaterina to now.” _ I skip over the first two centuries of names until I get to some I recognise. “ _ Tsarina Ksenija Nevena, the First of her name, Defender of the Realm.”  _

My finger follows the line to her three children, all daughters.  _ “Grand Tsarevna Marija Ekaterina. Tsarevna Dagmar Wiktoria. Tsarevna Aliana Milana. _ ” I get to the last name and my heart stops. “He was telling the truth.”

“My brother is many things, but a liar’s not one of them. So. Your mother was a  _ tsarevna,  _ but not the firstborn.”

“It doesn’t matter where she was in the line of succession. We’re technically bastards.” I explain further upon seeing Boudicca’s confused face. “Our parents weren’t married in the traditional Ruski way, nor did they ink their oaths. Thus, we have no concrete claim to the Ruski throne.”

“We’re still blood, though. Surely they would value that?” I can’t help but laugh. “What’s so funny about that?”

“You don’t  _ look  _ like blood. You look like  _ him. _ ” The words come out with more sting than I intended. “We get it. You look like your mother. Well, guess what?  _ You’re  _ the reason she’s dead.” My heart drops into the bottom of my stomach. “How could you say that?”

“Because it’s true. She was planning to take you with her on that trip to the Rus so she could escape with her favourite child, her _only_ daughter.” He hisses, getting so close that I can smell the iron on his breath. Wait--why would he be consuming _anything_ that would put that scent on him?

_ Oh, no. _

Before I know it, my brother’s face has evolved into a snarling gargoyle’s, and the thing lunges for me. I try to scramble away from it, but I’m still in bed, covered in a blanket, and can only get so far. I scream, largely as a reflex, but before it can do any real damage to me Boudicca has brought one of her swords down on its neck, severing its head from the rest of its body, splattering both of us in black blood. “Did it hurt you?” I manage to get out of the now-ruined bed and fall into her arms. “I’m alright. Where the hell is my brother?”

“We’ll find him. What the hell  _ was  _ that thing?” I pull back slightly, shaking my head. “I think it was a changeling. They’re shapeshifters that feed off of blood and iron. Capture one, and you can use it to do your bidding. Talk through it. Urien...he must have sent it to kill me.”

“Alastar, if that’s the case, then he just admitted to killing your mother.” The door bursts open, Gwynfor and the  _ real  _ Cystennin--at least, I hope it’s him--rushing in. “What the hell happened?”

“Urien sent a changeling with your face. I killed it. Where were you?”

“With him.” He replies, nodding towards his mate. “Wait, a  _ changeling _ ?! With my face? How did it even know where to find you?” I shake my head again. “No clue. It must have slipped into our rooms before you came back. But Urien was talking through it. He admitted to killing our mother because she wanted to escape.”

“Escape  _ him,  _ you mean. How do you know I’m not another one?” In response, Gwynfor pokes him in the hand with the tip of an iron pin. “Ah!” He yelps, backing away, clutching his hand to his chest. “There’s your answer.”

“If I didn’t love you so much, I’d punch you. So we have proof, in the form of a changeling corpse. What now?”

“It’s enough to kill him in retaliation. Changelings are native to the north. They can’t survive in the southern climate. It would be easy.” The door opens again, Teuta stepping into the room. “Why is there a dead changeling in your bed?” She immediately asks, wrinkling her nose at the stench of decay. “Urien sent it to try to kill us, coward that he is. Gather your army, Teuta. We’re going to war.”

“So much for the subterfuge, then?” Gwynfor murmurs. At his sister’s nod, he smiles. “Good. I was getting tired of sneaking around, anyways. I’ll let the rest of the court know.” As he and the others walk out, I take Boudicca’s hand in mine. “Are you ready for this?”

“As ready as I can be. We’re going to get the revenge we deserve. And then we’re getting married. I hope you wouldn’t mind having a small wedding.” She looks at me as if I’ve grown a second head. “Why would I? You know how private I am. I want it to be just us and our loved ones.”

“Agreed. You, me, as much cake as we want...I couldn’t ask for more.” I move to kiss her, but she stops me with a hand on my chest. “We’re both covered in changeling blood. Take a shower with me?” There’s no seduction in her voice, like there are so many times when she wants to be with me; this time, we’re both tired and need to wash off. “Sounds like a plan. Let me just take these clothes off and I’ll join you.” She goes ahead to the bathroom, the water turning on a moment later. I wait for some sort of fragrance to appear, but none does. I quickly peel off my bloodsoaked clothes and head to the bathroom, stepping into the enclosure behind Boudicca, my hands coming to rest on her waist. “I thought we said no funny business.” She murmurs, turning around to face me. “ _ You  _ did. But I wouldn’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

“Good. Hand me that washcloth, would you?” I do as she says and she sticks it under the spray before beginning to wash the changeling blood off of me. Some of it soaked through my tunic. “I love you.” She says the three words so quietly that they’re almost swallowed by the running water. “I know you do.” I whisper back, taking the cloth from her as I do so. “We’re made for each other. How could I not love you?”

“Aisling, stop it with the sappy talk. I know what’s going through your mind. We can beat him. Now, I don’t want to hear anymore about it until we get out of this shower.” The water gets cold a few minutes later, but she’s warm, and I can’t help but let out a sigh. “You okay?” Her voice is a bit muffled, but I still hear her. “Very much so. Are you?” She leans back up so I can see her face. “Perhaps.” Even so, I can see her start to shiver slightly. “You’re cold.” I quickly get up and fetch her a towel. She takes it from me, smiling her thanks, before wrapping it around her body. I have to admit,  _ that  _ bit makes me regret getting her the towel, but I don’t want her to catch a cold. I get a towel for myself before she speaks. “You certainly have a way with your hands.”

“I thank you for the compliment, my queen. By the way...the others are probably wondering where we are.” She smirks as she dries her hair with a few hummed notes. “Let them wonder. If they have to, they don’t know me well enough.” I follow her, drying my own hair as I go, then put on a fresh set of clothes, the dark red sweater I choose striking me as oddly comforting. I realise why when I see Boudicca wearing a similar one. “Well,  _ one  _ of us is going to have to change.”

“You think it’s going to be me? Cute.” Hers is more form-fitting, with a pocket on the chest, but they’re still both the same colour. Shqip red. I have to ask the one question that’s been nagging me since I met Era this morning. “Did you love her?” Her gaze shifting down gives me my answer, but I get a verbal one, too. “For a long time, I thought she was my mate and loved her like I do you. But as we got older, our relationship became more strained. More physical. More  _ violent.  _ We would have these horrible screaming matches before one of us stopped them with angry kissing, and then, well, we’d have angry sex.”

“Too much information.” I murmur, but it’s met with a shake of her head. “No, it isn’t, Aisling. You need to know everything, so you aren’t caught off guard by a sudden revelation, like we  _ both  _ were with our brothers.” She’s right, as always, but I’m not entirely sure I want to know all about her previous sexual relationships. “Did you bed any other monarchs before I came along? Or is she the exception?” I can’t help but ask as we walk to the war room, Temna and Zima trailing behind us. “The exception. I did bed a couple of diplomats and a random prince, though, so be warned.”

“Noted.” I murmur, filing the information away in a dark corner of my mind. Some things don’t need to be front and center, and  _ that  _ is one of them. “Took you long enough.”

“We were gone for an hour, not a day.” Boudicca retorts as she takes her seat at the head of the table. “Give us a break, will you?” Gwynfor mutters something that sounds suspiciously like  _ Where’s the fun in that? _ before he takes the seat to Boudicca’s right. I take the seat to her left, the kittens sitting patiently at my feet, and the debate begins. “Urien declared war four days ago--or, at least, that’s when the letter arrived. I’m surprised he hasn’t shown up on our territory with an army at his back.”

“These things take time. It isn’t like he can use a single spell to teleport his armies here. It’s giving us time to plan this out, so I must thank him for that.”

“Speaking of armies, how large is yours?” Teuta sighs, running a hand through her hair, which I’ve just noticed has red streaks interspersed with the light brown that I assume is her natural colour. “It depends on who you ask. The official number is fifty thousand.” It takes me a moment to understand what she’s getting at, and I pose the question whose answer just may be the only thing that saves the people I love. “What’s the unofficial number?”

“Four times that.” My heart soars and my jaw drops.  _ That many troops... _ “So we have the forces we need, even if we add in the hundred thousand of our military. Unless the Darkstar forces are more?” Cystennin shakes his head even as he thinks it over. “Hardly. If I’m remembering well enough, Urien’s army only has about seventy-five thousand foot soldiers. A couple thousand trained mages, and of those, only about a hundred have done actual combat.”

“Why so few mages in general?” Boudicca questions. I open my mouth to speak, but hesitate. She nods to me, and I find the strength to continue. “Urien likes to experiment with magic. On himself, and on his mages. There are so few because those are the ones who have survived.”

“Gods.” I hear Teuta murmur, shock in her voice. “And I thought  _ my  _ father was bad, but at least he treated his soldiers with respect, the ones who had the Shqip gift most of all.” The Shqip gift. The ability to control and communicate with avian life. “How many in your army have the gift?”

“About six hundred. Don’t look so surprised; it’s rarer than you may think. There are only so many born with it in every generation, my sister included.” A note of regret has slipped into her tone, making me think she’s sad she doesn’t have the gift. I know  _ I  _ would be if I were born giftless. I might not use my magic so much, but I wouldn’t want to be without it in a million years, even if I only use it so I can help protect Boudicca. Her foot toys with mine under the table, a silent message:  _ I love you. _ “Anyway…” I put my foot back where it was and focus on Era’s words. “Allow  _ me  _ to ask a question. How strong is his magic?”

“Stronger than both of us combined. If he weren’t, we would have killed him years ago. But as he got more powerful, his aversion to iron grew stronger. Now, just being touched by it would probably kill him.”

“We need Pryderi’s grenades, then.  _ Lots  _ of them. Teuta, how fast can you get your best fighters here?” The pause that ensues gives me the answer. “They’re already here, aren’t they?”

“Not quite. On one of the islands in the middle of the sea, preparing. Janina, however,  _ is _ here. Has been for a while.” At first, I’m not quite sure what she means. Then, the air behind her shimmers, the shape of a woman slowly coming into view before becoming more solid. Janina Maliqi is taller than her sister, but she has the same red-streaked brown hair and mismatched eyes. The other distinguishing feature she has is a wicked scar that stretches from her hairline to her jaw, crossing through her left eye. “Good evening. It’s nice for you to finally see me.” Her voice is abnormally high-pitched, a stark contrast to her hardened appearance. “It’s good to see you again, Janina.”

“I think I preferred you when we were fighting, Boudicca, but apart from that, the feeling is mutual.” A chair appears out of nowhere next to Teuta, and Janina sits down in it, graceful as a bird. “Thank you. As my sister said, most of our fighters are preparing on an island in the middle of the Zezak. They can be here in a day. Shall I send an eagle?” I’m eager to see how her gift works, but I let the two queens decide. They both nod. “Go ahead, Janina. We have no idea when Urien will-” The last word is swallowed by a massive explosion that sounds alarmingly close and shakes the room enough that I fall out of my seat, landing hard on my side. “I think he’s attacking now.”

“No shit.” Gwynfor and Cystennin say simultaneously. Those two...sometimes, it’s like they share one mind. At least Cystennin is already wearing the Darkstar crown, so there’s no need to run to the vault and get it. “What do we do?”

“We fight.” I get up, seeing that Boudicca has already drawn her swords, her rage barely confined. “We defend our home, and the ones we love. And we remove that bastard’s head from the rest of his body.”


	15. Boudicca

My home is under attack by my greatest enemy, my friends in danger, and my family at the greatest risk we’ve ever faced. Am I angry? No. I am  _ furious _ , about to explode, but I keep a level head. I have to, at least for Aisling’s sake. She may have to commit patricide tonight, and that’s never an easy thing. “Gaenor, ready our defences. Get the mages prepped for battle. Pryderi, how are we doing on arrows and Minoan fire?”

“Plenty of both, but we may want to hold off on the flaming arrows until all of those Shqip eagles get out of the sky.” Caitríona and her team have been teleporting the Shqip cohorts from the island into Liscannor, but I can’t help but feel that it’s not enough. At least my brother and my mate are with me. “Have they sent any messages?”

“No. Should  _ we  _ send one?” I pause, thinking, and wait until we’ve all climbed the ladder to the tower’s roof to respond. “Unless it’s a giant middle finger, no. They aren’t worth our time.” I’m not wearing my shiny silver armour, but instead the dull gray armour Pryderi made for night combat. I need to blend in, not stand out, which is why my entire Court is wearing the same armour, Aisling included. Cystennin, as befitting his rank, is wearing solid black armour, the Darkstar crown almost blending in with his inky hair. My own crown has morphed from a glittering diadem into a helm that covers my silver hair to the point of me looking near faceless.

A  _ caw  _ sounds from above us, a far cry from the screams of the Shqip eagles. It’s a raven. “Well, I think we’ve got a message from them now.” Janina calls the bird down and retrieves the scrap of paper attached to its leg. “What does it say?”

“It says ‘I’m on your side’, but there’s no indicator as to who it’s from.” She replies, handing me the note. The ink is dark purple, the penmanship extraordinarily elegant. I pass it to Aisling, who frowns, almost suspicious. “That’s Nioclás’ handwriting. This must be a trap.”

“Or he’s finally had the mental breakdown I suspected he always would.” Cystennin murmurs. “Or perhaps Urien made him write it in an attempt to fool us.”

“Any way you slice it, it’s odd.” I admit. “What are the chances that he’s actually going to turn against Urien?"

“Not-”

“Very likely, Aisling? Is that what you were about to say?” The man standing behind us is an exact copy of Treasach Gylden, save for one feature--his hair is the same dark purple as the ink used to write his message to us. “Because, believe it or not, it’s the truth. Turns out I’m not really your brother. Neither was Treasach.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Cystennin and Aisling demand in unison. Nioclás holds his hands up in a silent request for patience. “Mother gave birth to twins, it’s true. But they died soon after they were born. So Urien, out of some twisted form of love for her, stole another pair of twins from a village up in the mountains and raised them as his own sons. If you can call what he did to us ‘raising’ children.”

“That still doesn’t explain your purple hair.” I murmur. “Unless you’re going to tell me that you have Weaver blood-” He cuts me off by whistling a quick melody, swirls of violet magic surrounding him in a halo. “That’s  _ exactly  _ what I was about to tell you, actually. I like her, Aisling. She’s smart. Fate chose well for you. My biological father was a Weaver, my mother a Darkstar. Urien murdered them for daring to do what  _ you  _ did. Love each other.”

“When did you find this out?  _ How  _ did you find this out?” Nioclás laughs softly. “Urien told me after you murdered my twin--which I don’t blame you for, by the way. He was a psychopath. Anyway. Urien got stinking drunk after Treasach died, and that loosened his tongue enough for the truth to come out. Made me question what I had been believing all my life. Then I tried to sing, and, well,  _ this  _ happened.” He gestures to his purple hair. “I’m sorry for everything I did in his name.”

“We may not be related by blood, but I still see you as my brother.” Aisling steps up and holds a hand out. “Urien murdered our mother, too. Perhaps we can all get some revenge tonight. Is he here?” Nioclás shakes the hand proffered once, then nods. “He didn’t want anyone else to claim his predicted glory. He’s on a ship that’s heading for your harbor, and plans to bomb it to draw you out.”

“Like the explosion that hit my castle  _ didn’t _ ?” I mutter, but already have a plan. “Alright. Gaenor, take the elementals to the harbor. Any boat that we don’t know, destroy it. Deryn, Niamh, keep the Minoan fire arrows coming. Pryderi, Caitríona, make sure as many of our people as possible are evacuated out of the city.” I turn to my brother and the three Darkstars--well, two Darkstars and half-Weaver. “We stay together, and fight until we’re dead, if it comes to that.”

“The only one dying tonight will be Urien. We’ll make sure of it. Even if it means we  _ all _ have to stab him.” It’s an unlikely crew to take down a mad king, but, then again, I’ve done more with less. The sky lights up with Minoan and elemental fire alike, the battle for the future of the island having already begun. “Together, then?” I look to Aisling and nod softly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Two hours later, I’ve cut through an endless swarm of Darkstar soldiers with my blades, but haven’t used my magic yet--I need to save my strength for the final battle. “Catch!” I manage to grab the bomb Teuta tosses me out of the air and lob it into the oncoming forces, taking out at least a dozen of them. “Nice one.”

“Have you seen Aisling?” I lost track of her twenty minutes ago and haven’t seen her since. “I think she was with her brother. Her  _ actual  _ brother, that is.”

“Just because they don’t share blood doesn’t mean they can’t be siblings, Teuta. Speaking of siblings, where’s Janina?” I get my answer when the younger Shqip royal lands behind her sister, an eagle perching on her arm a moment later. “You rang?”

“Yeah. Can you get some of those ravens out of my way? I need to send a signal.” She tilts her head back and stretches out her free hand, fingers opening slowly, the ravens forcibly leaving the air a split second after. “Thanks.” I thrust my own hand up into the air and hum the melody of the song that Aisling sang to me on the night of the Solstice masquerade, a plume of silver smoke rising above the buildings.  _ Please find me, my love _ , I think, hoping this will work. “Boudicca!”

“Aisling!” I shout back, searching the street for her. She finally appears, running towards me, her blade stained with blood. “He’s here.” She whispers as we embrace, the emotion pouring off of her in waves. “We can do this. You can face him. I believe in you.”

“I believe in you.” She repeats my words back to me, determination setting in. “Let’s kill ourselves a king.”


	16. Aisling

This is what I’ve been waiting for for the past thirteen years. So why do I dread it so much? I shouldn’t. I  _ know _ that Urien has to die in order for the people I love to be safe. But I’m not sure that I can wield the blade on my own. “I thought you said he was here.” Boudicca murmurs as we reach the dock, my brothers running to meet us. “The ship’s on the other side of the harbour.” Cystennin pants, his black armour darkened even more by blood. When he notices me staring, he hastily adds, “It’s not mine.” I breathe a sigh of relief and focus on the waters. Slowly but surely, a massive warship appears, drawing closer and closer to us. Standing at the bow is the man I hate the most in this world. “What’s our plan?”

“Besides killing him? Humiliation might be nice.” Wisps of violet magic dance towards the warship as Nioclás hums a song I vaguely remember from our childhood, forming an arrow that smashes into the hull, causing a leak to spring. “It’s what he deserves.”

“Did you think it would be that easy, daughter?” Of course, it wouldn’t be. I slowly turn around to face the man who, unfortunate as it may be, is my biological father. Urien Gylden _ ,  _ the Darkstar king and my mother’s killer. If it weren’t for the perpetual sneer on his face, he would be handsome. “You have no children anymore. The only one who was loyal to you is dead.” My hand has already strayed to my dagger’s hilt, preparing to attack him, but he seems calm.  _ Too  _ calm, despite the insult. “A shame, really. To think I was going to make you my heir. You could have been a  _ queen _ , you fool. Instead, you bound yourself to a Weaver who will dispose of you when she’s had her fill.”

“Like you did with my mother? I never  _ wanted  _ to be a queen,  _ Father. _ ” I snarl, taking a step towards him. “I only wanted you to be a good person. But you failed again and again. You hurt my brothers. You slit my mother’s throat. And now you are threatening the person I love most in this world. If I am a fool, then what does that make you? You may be a king in name, but you have no crown.” Another step. “That’s the difference between you and me. I never wanted a crown. All I wanted was a family.”

“Sentiment will get you nowhere in this world. I thought I raised you better than that.”

“You didn’t raise us.” Cystennin and Nioclás are now flanking me as we confront the man who made our lives hell. “You beat us, stole me and Treasach from our  _ true  _ parents, killed the only mother I ever knew. So tell me,  _ Urien _ , was it worth it? Did you get what you wanted?” Tendrils of magic have filled my hands, black as ink, but before I can use it, Urien replies. “Of course I did. You three came back to me, after all.” Three bolts of magic, two black, one violet, strike him in the chest, each with the same force as a broadsword, knocking him off his feet and into the dark water of the harbor. Boudicca comes to stand next to me, hatred painted on her beautiful face, and whistles two sharp notes, coming out as silver arrows that go into the water. “To make sure he stays down.”

“What happened to cutting his head off?” Cystennin remarks, although it’s somehow lighthearted. Like we didn’t just kill our father. “I think I’ll settle for a unified island and society. Your Majesty.” Her use of my brother’s title has him rolling his eyes. “I never want to hear those words directed towards me again. Maybe you  _ should  _ be the one wearing this, Aisling.” He reaches for the crown, as if to take it off, but I hold up my hand before he can do anything more. “No. I’m not the right person to lead a country through the greatest change we’ve ever known.  _ You  _ are, Cystennin. I’ve always believed you would be a great king.”

“If you insist, then how can I say no?” He extends a hand to Boudicca, who shakes it firmly once. “To a new future.”

“A new future.” She repeats, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “One that includes more diplomacy.” I smile softly at the reference to what she promised me a month ago: a future as the head of the diplomatic academy, a way for me to do what I love  _ and _ be with the woman I love without sacrificing anything. “I think you have a speech to make, Cystennin.”

“Unfortunate.”

An hour later, the surviving Darkstar soldiers and mages are gathered in the main square, most of them more than suspicious about what’s going on. I can hardly blame them; if  _ I  _ were told to surrender by a disowned crown prince in the middle of enemy territory, I’d be suspicious, too. Boudicca isn’t out in the open, instead watching from the clock tower. Not being next to her doesn’t help my nerves, but knowing she’s relatively close by does. “The first thing I want you to know is that my father is dead.” Murmurs rise from the gathered crowd, but Cystennin presses on. “I do not regret that he is dead. I think we can all agree that we will never have to be afraid of his wrath again.”

“What did he ever do to  _ you _ , princeling?” A voice sneers from the crowd. Cystennin sighs, then peels back the magic camouflaging his scars. “Beat me. Shoved me face-first into a fireplace, among other things. None of us were spared from his abuse. Not even our mother.” Shock. Complete and total shock, for our mother was loved by all who knew her. I step forward and give my own testimony. “He slit her throat thirteen years ago.  _ He  _ was the reason for our lives being put into lockdown. I saw him do it with my own two eyes. None of us are perfect. But I believe my brother is the right person to lead us. If anyone has any better ideas, though, we want to hear them.”

“I am not my father. The only way we can move forward is as a nation, one that accepts  _ all  _ who call it home. I can only hope you will join us.” What happens next shocks me, and probably shocks Cystennin, too. They all cross one arm over their chests and bow their heads in respect. “All hail King Cystennin!”

_ Well, that was easy.  _ Boudicca murmurs in my head.  _ Your brother is a damn good speaker. _

_ He always has been. When can we celebrate? I want you all to myself.  _ Her laughter, soft yet wickedly amused, ripples down our bond.  _ Soon _ ,  _ love. I’ll be waiting for you in our rooms. In something absurdly expensive. _

_ I can’t wait to tear it off your body and worship you like the goddess you are.  _ A tap on my shoulder startles me out of the thought, and I turn to see Cystennin standing behind me, looking rather humoured at it. “Go get her. You deserve to relax after this.” His words, for some reason, make me sad. “And you don’t, big brother?” I ask softly. He laughs. “Oh, I have a very simple plan for that. Me, my mate, and the largest bottle of alcohol I can find. Maybe some illicit-”

“Okay, that’s enough.” I cut him off before he can say anything more. “I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll have plenty to discuss. For now, though,  _ I  _ have a mate waiting for  _ me _ .” I make my way through the castle, finally reaching our chambers, where I find Boudicca standing by the window, her slender, muscular form draped in a silky silver nightgown that barely covers the middle of her thighs. Not that I’m complaining. “Are you just going to stand there and enjoy the view?”

“Am I not allowed to?” I murmur, crossing the room to stand behind her, placing my hands on her waist. “Maybe I want to be soft before I keep you up all night. After all, we’ve practically ended a centuries-long war. Things are looking up for us. I have a feeling that I can be soft for a little while. I love you, Boudicca.”

“I love you, too, Aisling. Perhaps you’re right. Be soft.” I hug her from behind, putting my chin on her shoulder so I can breathe in her vanilla and nutmeg scent. “I can’t wait for you to be my wife  _ and  _ mate.”

“Why wait? We can find a priestess and have it done tonight.” I know she’s not serious, but I have to remind her of our earlier promise. “We’re inking our oaths, remember? That takes time. And pain.”

“Don’t you worry. I’ll be there getting mine inked, too. I think it’ll look quite nice on my arm. Unless we have to get them inked in a specific place?” I turn her around so I can see her face and take her hand in mine, our fingers weaving together. “Not that I know of. I was thinking that we could have them inked on our palms, so they touch when we’re holding hands.”  _ Like we are now _ , I add to myself. “Unless that’s too soft for you?”

“You could stand to have more scars. I could stand to be more soft. We’ll ink our oaths on our palms. It’s funny--in the early days of our relationship, I thought we’d always be better enemies than lovers. But now...you’re in my arms. Wearing my ring. Planning on marriage. For me, you are the only one. I would not have it any other way.”

“Neither would I.” It’s the truth, because she’s my life--every breath that I take.


End file.
